The First Great War: A Seminal Tragedy
by TheySayImMad
Summary: Join an original and (hopefully) diverse cast of characters 80 years before the official RWBY-verse in a war "about the very idea of individualism itself". Explore the political events leading up to The Great War of Remnant... while enjoying some good old RWBY-style combat! (Formerly RWBY: The Great War)
1. -Prologue- Maidens

**The Great War of Remnant**

Prologue: Maidens

Fang cursed. Mistral was too bloody cold. Even if he pulled his hood up, snow somehow still got into his hair. Then, the fine particles would melt and then refreeze into ice. What a shitty assignment. How was he supposed to find the Maiden if his eyelashes were frozen together? Rackon, his underling, stood next to him bow in hand. He was a good kid, seventeen years old and probably one of the best fighters at the Academy. Fang had at first been vehemently opposed to a partner, especially one who was still studying at the Academy, but the General convinced him to watch Rackon fight. Fang couldn't believe it. The sixteen year-old was probably on the same level as him, and he had been a Huntsman for ten years. That was only six months ago.

They had been partnered ever since then. Rackon was good, but naïve and inexperienced. He almost died once when he forgot he was an archer and jumped into a melee fight with a huge Geist possessing a thicket of poisonous vines, trying to distract it so the eight year old boy and his mother could get away. After that, he had spent almost two weeks out on a hospital bed, moaning about his skin peeling off. Past that, he hadn't done anything too crazy. However, Rackon was dating a Faunus right now, and Fang didn't know what to think about that. Fang was a Faunus himself and he just couldn't see the relationship working. The poor boy would need more exposure to the world, and know more about the discrimination against the Faunus. When Fang visited Vale without his bowler hat to cover his wolf ears, they wouldn't let him sit at the café, but insist on serving him take-away coffee in paper cups.

Rackon, who had nodded off a half an hour ago, had woken again. Crawling next to Fang, he began to speak.

'We should take shifts so one of us can rest.'

'No.'

'…All right. But you've been up for almost eighteen-'

'I've been up for longer. If you want a proper break Rackon, go have one. Just get me some jerky and a hot choc when you wake up.'

'Ah, you know I feel guilty for letting you take watch-'

'I know. But we're going after a Maiden, and if we miss her, the General's gonna whip me raw.'

'But c'mon, are you telling me there's gonna be more than one young woman visiting an inn like this? In the middle of nowhere? By herself?'

Fang looked at Rackon and laughed. It didn't really suit him to laugh.

'I know you're not blind. You picked up a pretty hot chick.'

Rackon's entire face turned red, so red in fact that Fang was worried about the contrast against the snow.

'All right Rackon. Calm down before you blow our camouflage. The Maiden might be here, and if she is, we gotta find her.'

Finding the new Maiden was their latest assignment. They had already been in Mistral for a month by now, searching the major cities, bribing bureaucrats and visiting the black market. The pair easily ruled out the City of Mistral; any strange occurrences there would spook the authorities and a man-hunt would be issued. After a tip-off from the General, the pair headed north to Windpath, and continued further to the villages. Snow had begun to fall by then. Rackon began to ask more and more questions about the Maidens, so Fang had to explain on the way.

Maidens were beings of extreme and inexplicable power, but their origins and numbers were in question. What was known by going through the records was that the Maiden's powers had four main categories, which the Academy labelled as Life, Heat, Wind and Frost. It was unknown how a person acquired the power of a Maiden, only that it could manifest itself in young girls, thus the term "Maiden". However, if their powers fell into the wrong hands, they could be used as human weapons.

That was the general gist. Riverton Academy was currently keeping tabs on one other Maiden, whose affinity was Wind.

Fang's thoughts were interrupted by a flash of light. A young woman had stepped out of the inn, and a ball of energy was coalescing between her forefinger and thumb. An unnatural cold, one which pierced the bones and seeped into the joints radiated from the woman. Three people stood in front of her, weapons drawn. From Fang's hiding place, they were side on. He could tell they were professionals, from their gear to their balance.

"Rackon, take the one on the left when I go in."

Fang dashed around the right, flanking the men from behind. He pushed back his cape and deployed his weapon. A blade came out from under his cape and unfolded, attaching to the gauntlet on his right hand. The blade extended until it was about a metre past his hand, stopping with a soft metallic clink. He burst forth like a shadow taking form. The three men were engaging the young lady, but she was keeping them at bay with flashes of light. Perhaps they were distracted, but they did not hear him until it was too late.

Rackon watched as his master ran around the clearing. He readied his bow and pulled back on the taut bowstring. A spiral of Dust appeared, and like particles crystallising, formed a red arrow. He was proud of his weapon; he had made the bow himself. It was elegantly shaped, and had a rotating cartridge at the grip which allowed him to change the type of dust used for the arrows.

His master came out from behind the men, around thirty metres away. Any normal man would have taken a couple of seconds to close the distance, but it only took his master a little over one. Rackon smiled. There was no way the men (despite being professionals) could have heard him coming; his master's Semblance controlled vibrations in a small area around himself, and thus he could nullify the sound before it reached them. Rackon allowed his arrow to fly forth, hitting the man on the left on the back of the head. The man's aura must have been depleted, as the arrow entered at the base of the neck without resistance. The red dust heated up and disintegrated the man, until only ashes remained. His arms fell away, and continued to burn up until only the hands were left. The last would-be assassin turned around, the scarf dropping off of her face. Confronting her new opponents turned out to be a fatal mistake as the Maiden launched a powerful blast of cold light, and her limp body was blown out of the clearing and into the trees.

* * *

Erisar strode towards the General's office with a folder filled with memos in one arm and a cup of cold-dripped coffee in his other hand. He was a boy of sixteen, and wore a soft brown tunic over a white linen shirt and brown pants. His dark brown hair went slightly past his shoulders, on which was draped a long black cloak which pooled on the ground whenever Erisar stood still. He used his foot to nudge the General's door open and placed the coffee and folder onto his desk.

Riverton Academy was situated on the southern coast of the Unknown Continent, which was on the top left on a map of Remnant and above Vytal. To Erisar, the location made sense. Although for others it was a source of pain, due to the long travel times needed to visit family over the school holidays, Erisar saw the importance of neutrality. Furthermore, they could train wherever they wanted as the Unknown Continent was uninhabited and filled with Grimm. As he turned around, a man with silver hair stood at the door, wearing a tight white shirt and matching suit pants. Even his tie and belt were white to compliment his hair.

'Ah Eri, thanks for these. Good timing, I wanted to talk to you about your next assignment.'

'When is it, General?'

'Shouldn't you ask "What is it" first?'

'Ok, what-'

'But you asked "When" first because you've got a partner for the dance tomorrow night, right lad?'

Erisar couldn't find a better description for the General's eyes than sparkling. He was a shrewd man. The hem of Erisar's cloak twitched as he avoided the General's gaze.

'No. I don't. I was just looking forward to some time off.'

'Hahaha! Don't worry lad. You can leave the next day. Just don't drink too much.'

'I won't General. So what did you want me to do?'

The General straightened his back and clasped his hands behind his back. Erisar knew these as the telltale signs of him being completely serious.

'I know you're good friends with Rackon, from the year above. I let him graduate two years early because he was good enough.'

'…And what does that have to do with me?'

'If you can do this assignment, I'll let you graduate when you return.'

Erisar was stumped. Although he was an extremely talented fighter with a strong aura, Erisar still viewed himself as a child who needed guidance and nowhere near a Huntsman. He did not have the experience, nor was he prepared for the position. Before he could speak, the General spoke once more.

'The delegates of Mantle and the delegates of Mistral are attending a meeting together. They requested Riverton Academy's presence at the negotiations.'

That made sense to Erisar. After all, this was why he was hesitant to becoming a Huntsman early. After all, Huntsmen weren't just romantics who sang about their achievements in slaying the Grimm. No, they were guardians, people respected for their fair judgement and unclouded minds. Because of their neutrality, they often served as mediators. For Mantle and Mistral to ask for Huntsmen, they must be seeking a political mediator. So this was the test – to see if he was able to not only handle fighting, but also maintaining peace.

'Of course, you won't be by yourself, Erisar. Fang and Rackon are in Mistral right now. You will be meeting up with them. However, you will be acting as the head mediator.'

'What are they doing in Mistral?'

'I'm sorry, that's classified. Give this letter to Fang when you meet up with him. It explains everything. Oh and if they're with a girl you don't know, don't ask too many questions.'


	2. A Tentative Agreement

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 1: A Tentative Agreement

'…And that's how I ended up in Windpath. So, what have you been up to Rackon?'

'Well, let's see. Other than bribing some Mistral officials, beating up some goons and getting my ears almost frozen off, not much.'

Four people sat around a heavy-set mahogany table. Fang was in a suit but didn't bother to hide his wolf-ears. He had made a name for himself in both Mistral and Mantle as a respected Huntsman, so there was no need to hide his Faunus features. Rackon was lying across the sofa in his pyjamas, having just taken his evening shower. The girl whom Erisar did not know was Lilia. She had platinum blond hair verging on silver, which was the same colour as her eyes. She was slender like a drawn sword, and, although not beautiful, had a certain charm. Erisar had gasped when he first met her, staring at those silver eyes until Fang told him she didn't have the aura of a silver-eyed warrior. She sat at the table wearing a blouse which rather emphasised the lines on her body. Erisar was also in a suit with his black cloak draped over the top, ready for the negotiations in the evening. His entire outfit was white, and his brown hair was bundled into an elegant ponytail.

'All right, Eri, I'll do a quick summary of the participants.'

'Shouldn't you be asking me to do that?'

Erisar meant for it to come out as a joke, but he was too uptight.

'Relax Eri. Don't be so nervous. Trust me, talking through the assignment helps. Especially with mediations. You need to know their aims, how they will attempt to achieve them, and how they will react to unexpected outcomes. And also their personalities. I'm assuming you've at least done the homework for their culture.'

'Yeah, and pretty much everything else. I sent the terms a week early. The only thing I haven't figured out is who will be representing each side.'

'I've got you covered there. The lead delegate from Mantle should be Revach, and he's a nasty piece of work. He's expansionist, and treats Faunus like scum. He doesn't want anyone in his way, and if you are, you get out or he gets you out. Luckily, he also really respects me, so we shouldn't have much problem once we reach a verdict. He's also quite direct, and plays his cards quick, so you don't need much probing. If he doesn't say something, it's because he doesn't know or it's classified info in Mantle.

The lead delegate from Mistral, without a doubt, will be Celes. Pronounced SE-lis. Her actual name is Zhao Xin Ling. She's very subtle, and will try worm as much as she can. But I don't think she will because Mantle is so much stronger than Mistral. If they invaded, Mistral's northern reaches won't stop them like they stopped the sea Grimm because Mantle soldiers are used to the cold. She'll try to agree to a bare minimum of Revach's demands.'

'Then doesn't that make our job easy, Fang? We just need to make sure there aren't ethical issues.'

'…I'm not sure. We'll need to see the line Revach's gonna take first.'

At this point, Lilia cut in.

'I don't know how much you two know, but one of Revach's goals is to ban art and expressionism on the pretext of stopping negative emotions, and thus preventing Grimm attacks.'

Fang looked incredulous and lost at the same time. Erisar straightened his already upright back and the hem of his cloak began to twitch. Who was Lilia and how did she know? He hadn't asked about her because the General said it was classified. Given Fang's expression, he doubted her, so Erisar needed to put it straight so he could hear Fang's opinion. He coughed softly, and then spoke.

'I know. I've done my homework. Obviously Fang hasn't yet, that's why he's treating this like a babysit assignment rather than a proper support assignment. There's no way I can let this through, and for a vibrant place like Mistral, I doubt Celes will agree either.'

Fang butted in here.

'But if Celes agrees to those terms, we can't stop her from accepting. We are Huntsman. We need to be as apolitical as we can.'

There was silence after those words. Everyone knew that banning expressionism was wrong, but they also understood the neutrality of the Huntsmen. Then, Rackon chimed in.

'We'll simply have to oppose the terms on banning expressionism on ethical grounds, and state that they cannot be a negotiable item.'

Fang looked deeply troubled by the turn of events. Erisar looked at him for a couple of minutes, and then spoke with his voice calm and collected.

'The meeting is in half an hour. We should be early as the party invited to overview this process.'

'Indeed.'

Fang rose as he spoke. Erisar followed. They both said goodbye and Rackon and Lilia wished them luck. Unknown to everyone present, Erisar already had a plan for the meeting. Lilia chipping in like she did was unexpected, but Erisar was going to tell Fang about Revach's terms anyway. The ban on expressionism came from one of Mantle's first demands, but was never mentioned in subsequent replies. Despite that, Erisar had a rough plan ready for the eventuality thanks to Fang's obvious opposition to the ban.

The two of them took a lift to the top of the building and stepped onto an airbus which had been provided by Mistral. The captain greeted them with a salute and they boarded. The trip was mostly in silence as Erisar and Fang looked over the documents from each side once more. They landed in front of a temple-like structure which served as the Mistral government house. They were lead to a side room. There were six chairs arranged around a circular table. Two were already occupied. A woman with sharp eyes but soft features sat in one of them. Erisar instantly recognised her as Celes. The other person was a man in a traditional Mistral robe. Fang spoke to Celes after greetings were exchanged.

'It's good to see you Celes. And you, Han. Do you know when Revach will be arriving?'

'Are you assuming it will be Revach or have you already seen him?'

'Unfortunately, it was only a guess. I had hoped you would confirm it for me.'

'He will be here in around two minutes. The airbus captain has already reported in to me. With him is Cynthia Schnee.'

'A Schnee!'

Erisar had exclaimed without thought. His eyes went slightly wild at the mention, and unknown to anyone else, his cloak began surreptitiously twitching. The Schnee's were a family of Huntsmen who left the Academy to join up with the Mantle government. They had broken their vow of neutrality to serve one of the most technologically superior and expansionist regimes in Remnant.

At this, Fang pulled Erisar outside, and began whispering so low Erisar had to strain to hear.

'Don't lose focus. This is one of the ways Celes is trying to win you over'

'It's fine Fang. I'm pretending to try and get on her good side'

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I need both of them to like me and think I'm working for them, otherwise this meeting will never work out.'

Fang sighed.

'I wouldn't mess with Celes if I were you. Huntsman or not, she will hunt you down if she thinks you've played her. The Prince's enemies were all terrorised into support or crushed.'

'I know I'm facing a Machiavellian.'

The two Huntsman were about to re-enter the room when a loud voice stopped them.

'Fang! Good to see you.'

'Ah! Revach! We were waiting for you to come. Let's enter.'

'After you.'

There were four people in the corridor. Two were obviously Revach's guards. Revach himself had a rough handsomeness in a rough brown suit. The lady next to him had white hair and dark red irises. Cynthia's dress was black though, contrasting heavily with her complexion and hair. The four of them entered while the guards stood at the door.

'Welcome, Revach!'

'Well met, Celes. It's an honour to meet the famous Lady of Whispers in the flesh.'

'Have a seat. Would you like refreshments?'

'No thank you. The hospitality of your airbus was quite sufficient.'

When the six of them were seated, Fang spoke first, surprising all the people present as they expected Fang to be hosting the mediation.

'On behalf of Riverton Academy, we are honoured to attend and mediate these negotiations. However, I must disappoint you all, for I am not the official mediator who was assigned this task. This is Erisar Vil'khaern. He will be our mediator for today, and I will be the observer, as is the custom.'

When Fang finished, Erisar stood and began to speak.

'Let's get to the point. Mantle has claimed that since Mistral was not using sites at the Northern Coast of Anima, Mantle is free to use them to mine for Dust. Mistral has responded stating that Mantle is impeaching their sovereignty. However, Mistral's borders are very rough around the Northern Coast of Anima, and their official borders have not been agreed upon. Allow me to clear up some confusion with this matter.

Firstly, Mistral has no claim to territory other than the area surrounding the sea which they have settled around. On principle, their Kingdom should not stretch so far, especially to regions they have deemed to be unprofitable to settle. And although Mantle's territory could be considered only the continent of Solitos, they are settling on parts of Anima.

Secondly, Mantle should have consulted Mistral before this operation was set up. They should not assume disputed territory is theirs, as that could lead to a war, which would attract Grimm. Nor should they have attempted to hide this operation, as negotiation letters commenced two months ago, which means the operation went for four months without Mistral's knowledge.

Finally, with the above points in mind, I have proposed a solution in which the details can be solved at a later date. Since the operation is already begun, I propose that they continue the mining of dust at the Coast. They must hire at least 50% Mistral workers, to stimulate the Mistral economy. Work conditions for Mistral citizens will be ensured by Mistral overseers. Furthermore, they must pay a tax to Mistral, roughly 5% of the total profit, in Lien. Also, both Mantle and Mistral must not use these territorial disputes as a casus belli for war.

These terms are the same ones I have sent to you prior to this meeting. I believe you should have had enough time to discuss them with your respective Councils before this negotiation. Does anyone have any objections?'

Revach nodded.

'These seem relatively fair. What do you think Celes?'

If Celes was taken aback by Revach's quick agreement, she did not show it. The terms were exceedingly good for her and she knew that.

'There must be a catch, no?'

'No, there is none. But I have another proposition on top of Erisar's brilliant handling of this matter. It is that the Northern Coast be banned of all forms of expressionism and art. I'm sure you understand the logic behind this. Expressionism provokes emotions, and negative emotions attract Grimm. This will make the operation safer for all who are present.'

Erisar smiled internally. Looks like Fang was right. Revach really wasn't a man to play with words. However, Fang cut in before Erisar could speak.

'As Huntsmen, this is not a matter we can impose our thoughts on, as this does not involve the territorial dispute.'

Erisar stopped. His mind was blank. What was Fang trying to pull? Erisar had a plan ready for Revach's statement, but Fang's follow-up tied Erisar's hands. He saw Fang glance momentarily at Revach. The hem of his cloak one again began to twitch, fluttering up and down at his feet. He hadn't accounted for Fang to interfere.

Celes seemed to be prepared for this.

'This is slightly too authoritarian for a country like Mistral to condone.'

'Consider it, Celes. We are only mining in the Northern Coast. It's wilderness, snow and some deciduous trees. If we restrict emotion, it could keep everyone safe! It makes everyone's lives easier, I don't have to report Grimm attacks and you won't have to do body counts. And besides, it's not like Mistral Northerners produce any pieces of fine art. You can keep your progressive and avant-garde works in your capital for people to enjoy.'

Celes talked briefly with her advisor Han. Han then spoke up.

'I find no objections to mister Revach's proposal. It seems to be a reasonable way to keep Northern Anima safe from the Grimm'

Erisar sat there, wracking his brains for a way to join the conversation without contradicting Fang's earlier statement. He was beginning to get angry. He had prepared so much. And it was all going to fall apart because Fang chose the worst moment to remind everyone of the Huntsmen's neutrality.

'…Although I have objections, I don't think they are worth voicing compared to how much Mantle is giving up. Let's sign this rough agreement and do specifics later. I hope this will be the start of a prosperous Dust trade agreement.'

Celes turned towards Erisar and Fang.

Thank you for your hard work, Huntsmen. As promised, three thousand Lien.'

It suddenly dawned on Erisar. A sick feeling clung at his chest as he thought back. Fang's sideway's glance at Revach. Fang's certainty that Mantle would send Revach to the negotiations. He'd been bought. There was no other way he would have reminded everyone at such an inopportune time. Just like the Schnee's, Fang was working for the Council of Mantle.

Erisar mulled over the turn of events on the airbus. All his hatred was brewing in a small flask and the stopper was barely enough to keep it in.

Once they were back on the roof of the hotel, Erisar let his anger out as if the thunderstorm shattered the flask keeping it in. His entire face was screwed up and filled with rage. He lashed out, the shadows around him grew darker and a thin jet shot out of his forefinger. Fang expertly parried it with his gauntlet. Erisar's voice was so loud that Fang's wolf-ears began to flatten themselves on reflex.

'How much did Revach pay you? How much? Do you know what you're doing? I had planned for all of this! All of it! I was ready! And then you cut me off like some compulsive, rule-abiding jerk!'

'Look Eri -'

'DON'T' ACT ALL CHUMMY WITH ME I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. YOU SOLD US ALL OUT-'

'You don't understand the position of Huntsmen-'

'-LIKE SOME DONUTS ON THE STREET. DON'T YOU SEE? IF MANTLE AND MISTRAL BAND TOGETHER, THIS WILL MEAN WAR WITH VALE'

'War isn't the concern of Huntsmen. We protect mankind from the Grimm and other supernatural -'

'WE ARE MEANT TO PROTECT MAN, EVEN FROM HIMSELF. VALE HATES MISTRAL. THEY'RE GONNA USE THIS AS A CASUS BELLI FOR "LIBERATING" THEM-'

'STOP YELLING'

At this, Erisar deflated like a popped balloon. Despite having a rough voice and a simple lexicon, this was one of the few times he had seen Fang raise his voice.

'As I was saying, human politics have no concern with the Huntsmen. We are protecting the world from the Grimm, from Salem, and also from people with… questionable motivations who want to unleash the power of the Maidens.'

'Stop trying to change-'

'Humans will go to war. War attracts Grimm. I can understand that you want to prevent human conflict to minimise our encounters with the Grimm, but war is like a drug. We can't stop them trying it. It'll happen sooner or later.'

'…'

'You're still sixteen Eri. Give it some time. Rackon's the same; still too naïve. Besides, I'm proud enough that you managed to hold onto your temper until we got back. It's also good you didn't go to town on that Schnee. I really wanted to when I saw her.'

'…So you didn't sell us out?'

'I… owed Revach a favour. Don't ask. I don't want to sound like this is an excuse, but we both shouldn't and can't oppose Revach's proposal on the ban of expressionism.'

Erisar didn't really understand, and there was a drawn-out silence between them. Not wanting to be at odds with Fang after a reasonable explanation, Erisar changed the subject.

'What were you saying earlier?'

'About war?'

'No, about things called Maidens?'

Fang stopped, his mouth gaping. And at that moment, he knew… he fucked up.


	3. Riverton Academy

The Great War of Remnant

Chapter 2: Riverton Academy for Huntsmen and Huntresses

The General sighed as he picked up his cane. No one knew how old it was, nor who it first belonged to. It had a spherical hilt and a polished bronze guard tapered back from the base of the handle like a sword. Sipping from his cup of cold dripped coffee, he proceeded to walk slowly around the room. In the middle was a horseshoe-shaped glass table, and at it sat Rackon, Fang, Erisar and Lilia.

'I received your report.'

Rackon was the first to reply.

'Of course you did. In case you haven't realised, the only button you gave us is the "SEND" one. Nothing else we can really do in our spare time.'

'Well I doubt we'll be changing that in the next 80 years. But now's not a good time for jokes. We need to prepare ourselves. I'm going ahead with your graduation, Erisar, the final combat one.'

Erisar looked down at the table. He had been depressed ever since his mediation mission. The General thought Fang was exaggerating when he said Erisar wouldn't even look anyone in the eyes anymore, but from what he could see, Fang did not lie. However, the General also knew that it was better to have naïve dreams crushed early than to let them constantly live on and plague the younger Huntsman. The General collected his thoughts, and continued.

'After the trials-'

Fang interjected.

'I'm sorry General Branwen. I thought you said Eri here was as good as Rackon in a fight. What's the point of putting him through that trial?'

'…Ah. The point is the formalities. The Academy and especially the older students need to see how good he is, otherwise they'll accuse me of favouritism, or some other crime. Now, after the trials, I will need to assign you with a partner. My daughter, Kat, is willing to take you on, but only if you pass her personal fighting test… although I think the test might be fighting her.'

'Very well, General.'

'Then let's get this show on the road. I've scheduled the graduation for this afternoon, in the Colosseum. Good luck and go get 'em, tiger.'

Erisar stood up and left, his black cape swirling behind him like a fluttering shadow. The General waited for him to leave before turning to face the three remaining people.

'Lilia… Schnee. It must be hard running away from your family. After all, they are prestigious people who value their reputation quite highly.'

Fang looked uncomfortable at this. To him, it explained how he knew Revach's plans. Rackon, who had only heard about the massacre at the previous Academy, stiffened slightly, but didn't speak.

To Fang, every Schnee was an enemy. Ten years ago, just after his graduation, the Schnee family of Huntsmen and Huntresses renounced their titles, preferring to serve their home country Mantle. They had come back to the Academy one last time with a hoard of followers in an attempt to sway the young talent to the Military Academy of Mantle. The headmaster back then was a man named Ozpin. He denied them entry, and in a supposed fit of rage, the Schnee family began slaughtering the students at the Academy. Professor Branwen and Fang were two of the survivors.

Fang remembered Branwen in action. His scythe was like an extension of his arm, swirling and slashing in elegant arcs. He fought the Schnee's three on one, killing two. Those were the only casualties the Schnee's had. After the incident, the Academy relocated from Vale to the Unknown Continent, determined to build the next generation of young men and women who could protect mankind from the Grimm.

'You don't choose your family. The lottery of birth does that, I'm afraid.'

Lilia spoke with command. Her voice was smooth, cultured and a little bossy. The General was impressed with her demeanour, but did not show it on his face.

'Very true. So lass, whaddya say. You're only sixteen. Stay at the Academy for a while; I'll enter you as a transfer student.'

'So you can keep a leash on a Schnee?'

'No. So I can keep a leash on a Maiden.'

There was a silence. Lilia did not expect the General to be so forthright. She took a moment to think, and then requested to view Erisar's graduation.

'Of course! Graduation matches are open for everyone. Although, I doubt it will be very entertaining. Eri is pretty good. I doubt he'll be needing his weapon or his Semblance. But…'

Here, the General gave an evil chuckle.

'…I'm setting the exam.'

* * *

Erisar wore his usual clothes, but donned a synthetic vest under his tunic. He put on what seemed to be silk gloves, but was actually a pair of iridium wool gloves laced with light blue Dust. Stepping out into the Colosseum, Erisar greeted the cheering crowd with a wave before turning his attention to the cages in front of him.

Each graduation involved different types of Grimm. The General often chose those which were an unfavourable matchup for the student who was fighting. For Erisar, an agile fighter with a tendency to dodge rather than block, there were three cages arranged in front of him. Two contained Beringels: ape-like Grimm with strong muscles both powerful and resilient. They were also reasonably quick, but their most frightening attack was their grapple. If Erisar was only facing one, there wouldn't be much of a problem, but if he was grappled while there were others, he would probably fail in an instant.

The third Grimm was one Erisar had only seen once before and never fought. It had elongated legs and arms which were as thin as sticks. The body seemed far too small compared to its limbs. It stood with a straight back, and the long skull which covered its face reminded Erisar of a horse. This was the Thin Man.

He had visited the academy when it was still in Vale ten years ago. Erisar was six at the time. He remembered holding a soft drink in one hand and popcorn in the other. The person who took on this Grimm was none other than Fang. Fang had been paired with one Beringel and one Thin Man. He had taken on the Thin Man first because of its speed. He had placed a well-aimed strike, blinding the Thin Man and continued to kite it by flanking to its blinded side and avoiding the Beringel. However, Erisar couldn't take the same strategy, as there were two Beringels. It would be over if he accidently kited into one of them.

Erisar smiled. He hadn't had a challenge like this for a long time.

The General's voice boomed across the loudspeakers.

'Open the gates!'

The three Grimm stepped out and immediately began to charge at him. Erisar's cape twitched. He raised his hands in a ready position.

The Grimm that reached Erisar first was the Thin Man. He had expected this. Hardening the aura on his right leg, Erisar propelled himself at the Thin Man. They say the Grimm have no emotions, but the Thin Man faltered as it saw Erisar charge him head on. At the last second, Erisar turned to the right. He jumped over the Thin Man with a back flip. The Beringel which was behind now came face to face with Erisar. It took a lung at him, but Erisar ducked under it, slipped between its legs and delivered two quick strikes behind the knee. Ice crystals formed where his hands had hit, and Erisar performed a powerful roundhouse kick with his aura-charged leg.

Erisar had a huge disadvantage when he was compared to other Huntsmen his age. His aura was still weak, which meant one or two blows would wipe him out. However, he had learned to compensate by understanding aura and learning to feel it. He had spent countless hours learning to direct his aura to different parts of the body to make his attacks stronger.

Erisar scooped to the left flank of the damaged Beringel and delivered a sharp punch, this time to the side of its knee. Then, he disengaged with another back flip prevent himself from being surrounded, and broke the momentum with a roll.

* * *

Lilia, Rackon and Fang sat together in the stadium. On Rackon's lap was Erin, a fox-Faunus and Rackon's childhood friend and recent girlfriend. They were looking at Erisar with their breath held in. Fang was giving an analysis.

'Eri can't afford to fight them all head on. He'll need to focus fire one of them first. Look at the way he's placing his attacks. He's trying to reduce their mobility by icing their knees rather than outright killing them. He's also trying to get behind the knee, because the Beringels don't have bone plates on the back. That's smart, if he freezes up the two Beringels, he can turn to the Thin Man without worrying about those two thugs.'

Lilia was watching with both trepidation and fascination. Although she was a Schnee who had been trained by the Military Academy of Mantle, she had never seen a Thin Man before, and the M.A.M. had only ever permitted Beringel fights under strict supervision where instructors could instantly intervene. Although she tried to keep her voice calm, her commanding voice had a hint of fear.

'What if they overwhelm him? No one is close enough to help.'

'Don't worry, the General knows Eri's limits pretty well. But he did choose a pretty bad match for him, that prick. It's a mix of really resilient Grimm which can't be one-shot with a Thin Man who's as fast as Eri. It pretty much stops Eri's greatest strength which is his agility. He might have to use his weapon and Semblance soon.'

Just as he said this, Erisar's cape flew out as if it had a will of its own. It would have struck the unsuspecting Thin Man right under the jaw if it had one. Then, the cape stopped and changed direction, sweeping the Thin Man off its feet. It tried to grab Erisar with its jerky, insectile arms but a couple of well-placed blows from Erisar froze up its elbows. The Thin Man wailed in despair the air surrounding around Erisar's hand seemed to darken. Then, he drove it through the Thin Man's head. There was a screech, silence, and then a thunderstorm as the audience broke into applause.

The two slowed Beringels were easy prey for an unfazed Erisar, who dispatched them with attacks to the back of the neck. There were cheers from all around the stadium as Erisar thrust his hands into the air. Unknown to almost everyone, Erisar's aura had been depleted from the fight; his shoulders were bruised and his left hand was probably fractured if not worse. The Thin Man was much harder than Erisar had expected, and brought down his entire aura with a couple glancing strikes. He ended up surreptitiously using his cape to block attacks here and there until he caught the Thin Man overbalancing after an ambitious lunge, and knocked it to the ground with an uppercut from his cape.

Erisar's cape was his pride and joy. It was made of a large, flawless black animal hide on the inside and a synthetic material on the outside. Woven into it were a series of electromagnets and Dust. His cape was directly linked to his brain when he donned it; controlled through the Dust-woven fabric touching the base of his neck. Whenever Erisar experienced strong emotions, like anger or nerves, his cape would begin to twitch and flutter in response.

He walked back into the prep room. From there, the Academy surgeon examined his hand and told him he shouldn't have to worry, the fractures would heal if he consistently channelled his aura there to assist the process. Then, he wrapped a splint along the forefinger and the middle finger before discharging Erisar. Before he left, the surgeon told him the General was waiting in his office.

However, waiting for him in there was not only the General, but also Fang and Lilia. The General looked up as Erisar walked in, and turned to Lilia.

'So, whaddya think about our Huntsmen, hmm? This one's still two years from graduation, but I'm giving him an early pass. He's a good lad.'

Erisar blushed. Fang looked at him slyly and also commented.

'Do you think she's up to your standards Mr. High and Mighty?'

'Can you two stop teasing him, he looks light a strawberry. Good job, by the way. You have an interesting way of fighting.'

Lilia's voice was as cultured as ever, but it didn't have the same edge from when Erisar first met her. She had begun to mellow ever so slightly, and Erisar was glad. He didn't need another sidekick for the General to bully him with. He tried to look at the General straight in the eyes.

'Can we get to business, General? There are a couple of matters I wanted to talk to you about. Firstly, I want your opinions on my mission.'

'Then have a seat and I'll tell you what I thought. In case you're wondering, I had a pretty good understanding of what happened. Fang recorded all of it.'

Erisar's face turned redder than the General would have considered possible.

'Yes, I did see your shouting match. But don't worry. Not every Huntsman has the same ideals, and I won't criticize you for that.'

'Thank you, General.'

'Well, then, before we begin, Lilia? I assume you will be accepting your position. Very well then. Fang, please show her the tenth grade dormitories. Also, show her the way to the coastal town so she can buy some extra clothes if she feels the need. Don't look at me like that Lilia, the clothes they have are stocked from all around Remnant.'

Fang and Lilia left with a quick goodbye, and closed the door behind them.

'Now then, have a seat.'

The General proffered Erisar a seat. He took it, and the General sat down opposite him. He took out a holographic projector and inserted a tape into it.

'Erisar, I want you to think of this as an extra-curricular lesson. I would prefer it if you took notes of my analysis. Here's some paper and a pen.'

Ha, the General was as old fashioned as ever. Thank both the Creator and the Destroyer that Erisar practised his writing skills often with both hands.

'After this though, could we discuss another matter?'

'The Maidens? I fully intended to bring you into the loop. But not now. It's still a bit early.'


	4. Revach the Cold

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 3: Revach the Cold

Revach had long dreamed of a world where man was safe from the Grimm. Villages would no longer rely on soldiers or warriors to keep them safe, technology would finally be used for luxury rather than military and world would progress to a new era of happiness and security. To do this, he would need to change it. Negative emotions attract the Grimm. By removing the sources for it, Revach was sure that mankind would obtain the greatest weapon against the Grimm: invisibility.

There were five members on the Council of Mantle: Xander Schnee, James Black, Judith Williams, Leon Ironwood, and himself, Revach Emory. They sat around a circular table in chairs of white marble – holograms with interactive graphs, technological designs and other miscellaneous items projected all over the table.

Revach leaned back into his chair, one hand holding a cup of blended scotch and the other twirling a white bishop in his fingers. When Revach was invited to be a member of the Council, he was given the most boring task of General Secretary. It was pretty much a middle finger from the Council; the once ambitious Revach could no longer progress due to his position as an unimportant Council member. He took care of the Mantle Party and their appearance to the outside world, such as handling foreign affairs, appointing ministers and providing consuls.

Compared to the other seats, the Secretary had no power indeed. General Ironwood had control of the military, Williams was the Treasurer, Schnee pursued new applications for Dust and Black was Chairman of the Council. However, the Secretary did have a hidden advantage. All the pay and promotions within the party went through Revach, and he took maximum advantage of this.

Black stood up. Everyone halted their preparations with the holograms. They all looked to him and waited for the points of interest to be discussed in this meeting. Smiling as he looked down at the bored but expectant faces, Black began his summary.

'There are four items to be discussed today. They are the management of our new territory on the Northern Coast of Anima, the training of Specialists on par with the Huntsmen of Riverton, an attempted rebellion in our Dust factories in Vacuo and civil unrest in the coastal towns.

Because civil unrest is a minor matter, we'll be discussing that one first. Any objections?'

Silence.

'Well then, Revach, could you give a report on the situation?'

'Of course.'

Revach tapped on the table, and a digital memo and an eight page report were passed to each of the Council members. The memo was a page in length and in dot point form. As the Council skimmed through it, Revach began a summary.

'The coastal town, Liquid, is currently experiencing a spike in rioting and protest. This is coupled with a rise in Grimm attacks. As you all know, this was one of four towns chosen for the social experiment, the ban on expressionism, which included the banning of creative literature, arts, film and other expressionist mediums. There has been, so far, a drastic drop of forty percent in Grimm attacks at the other three towns. However, there has almost been a one hundred percent increase in Grimm attacks in Liquid.

It is my personal belief that this is due to two factors. Firstly, the police are preoccupied with riots, protests and criminal activity. They have even called in Specialists normally fighting Grimm to assist in maintaining order within the towns, decreasing the amount of people capable of dealing with Grimm. Secondly, the increases in hatred, fear and other negative emotions have been exacerbated by protesting and the rioting.

My proposal to solve this is simple. I will be as honest as I can be with the people. My overseer for the experiment will accompany me on a tour of the town and we will convince the populus to accept the Ban. I have already begun preparing my speeches and also responses to various… attempts to discredit me. Hopefully, this will be done within the week.

Although our normal procedure is to discuss a motion before it is proposed, I would like put a motion on the proposal due to its insignificance.'

Black was shocked at how insane Revach's solution was. There was no way simply "talking" to an angered crowd would stop them. No, it could very well make matters worse. But Revach was an ambitious man, and some on the Council would like to see him fail so they have an excuse to eject him from his seat. Even Black acknowledged that Revach was an important tool. He did not want to see Revach be discredited over such a minor incident, if he were to fail. But Black was sure he would. He waited for Revach to resume his seat before standing up himself.

'Since this is a minor civil motion – minor because Felstrom and Liquid are not important assets – three votes are required for it to pass. We will go clockwise from Revach, the proposer.'

Revach smiled.

'I accept this motion.'

General Ironwood looked at Revach with sharp eyes. Revach smiled back, and the General nodded.

'I accept.'

Next was Schnee.

'I decline.'

His fast response was expected. Schnee had astute senses when it came to people; Revach doubted he would be able to fool Schnee. Black was next. Black was a person who appreciated Revach's talent, despite his somewhat rocky allegiance. Revach was banking on his vote for the motion to pass. It was ironic that the deciding vote often came to Black when Revach was the proposer, as Williams, the Treasurer, would often reject Revach to stop him obtaining more power and forging more connections. Revach closed his eyes, and waited. Half a minute must have passed, before the Chairman's voice caused Revach's eyes to snap open.

'I decline'

Revach's heart sank. That was the vote he needed. As he gulped down his whiskey, Williams spoke.

'I accept.'

She glanced at Revach and flashed her charming smile. Revach sat in his chair, flabbergasted. Black stared at Williams and it was obvious from her smile that she was plotting against Revach.

'The motion has been passed. Then, let us move to more pressing matters about the rebellion in Vacuo…'

* * *

Revach sat alone in his office, waiting for the overseer of the Ban experiment.

Everything was falling into place for Revach. The Ban was moving as smoothly as he could have hoped, and if it was successful, Mantle would adopt it sooner or later. It would be even better if Mistral would accept the Ban. The further Revach could spread his ideals, the more men he could protect. Parts of Vacuo were also under Mantle's rule due to their dust mining, but most of it was done by Faunus slaves.

Even the brief thought of the Faunus left a bad taste in Revach's mouth. He detested those swine; those vicious demihumans who only knew death and destruction. To him, they were the ancestors who could not hope to rival modern man's supreme intellect. There was only one Faunus Revach had ever acknowledged. The half-breed, Fang, had inherited his mother's Faunus features but his father's honourable mindset.

A gentle knock brought him back to his senses. A man who always had always slouched for as long as Revach had known him had walked through the door.

'Hey Revach. Ya asked for me?'

'Ah, yes I did Cain. There's rioting going on in Liquid right now. I will be going to placate the crowds, and as the overseer for the project there, I was hoping you could accompany me.'

'Yeah, I'll come along. But I dunno what you want me to do. You'll be the one talking.'

'Oh, I know. I want you to do what you do best. I will be giving you control of the police and the Specialists in Liquid. Stop the riots in four days. Oh, and don't hold back.'

'Sure. Four days is plenty.'

'Hahaha, I'm sure you'll enjoy it.'

'Thank you sir.'

'We'll be leaving in twenty minutes. Get your travel pack and let's meet at hoverpad two. Oh and, as usual, this conversation never occurred.'

As Cain left, Revach smiled to himself. Cain didn't know this, but he was being replaced with someone more… competent. He would draw the anger of the crowds, and then be the stepping stone for another more capable individual. A fine showing of two birds with one stone.

Just like everyone else on the council, Revach had a permanently packed suitcase for occasions like this. He dusted it off and picked it up before heading to the hoverpad. The airbus was the usual grey and white of Mantle. Despite being a council member, Revach did not enjoy the overt luxuries like the other Council members. Rather, he preferred to be efficient and ergonomic. Cain arrived several minutes later with Cynthia Schnee who was carrying a snow white case.

'What do you think you're doing, Ice Queen?'

'I was sent by my father to keep you safe. He is rather concerned about your wellbeing. A town like Liquid… well, you could be caught up in the rioting.'

'Ah, then you have my deepest gratitude.'

Revach pulled a mocking half bow. He knew why she was here. She would be reporting to old man Xander every step of the way. Luckily, he had already given Cain his instructions.

'Well then, Ice Queen, I'm afraid my airbus is not as luxurious as your father's. You will have to bear with it.'

* * *

The rally of protestors swelled in size as it approached the government's building. Word of overseer's arrival to Liquid had spread like wildfire. As they approached, one woman took out a loudspeaker and began to shout.

'WE WANT FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION! WE WANT OUR ART BACK! WE WANT OUR BOOKS BACK! WE WANT OUR FILM BACK!'

What the crowd described then was mixed. Some thought Cain smiled as he approached the gates of the government building. Other's claimed he had an expression of unrivalled bloodlust. Despite what they thought they saw, they agreed unanimously on the next thing that happened.

Cain was speaking through his comlink. Then, he said, unmistakably, 'Take aim and fire'.

The police guarding the government building, along with the Specialists in tow unleashed a barrage. Jets of red and blue light streaked across the courtyard and into the mass of protestors. There was silence. Then, the woman with the loudspeaker fell slowly and hit the ground. A loud crackling filled the air as her handheld mike hit the ground. It was followed by a wailing from a young boy still holding her other hand.

Suddenly, everyone came to their senses. They began screaming; trampling each other as they tried to run away. The people who fell would be kicked and stomped as the panicking crowd tried to run away from the government gates. As they did, a second volley hit the backs of the people who were running. They fell limp, hitting the floor and rolling like a rag doll.

Cain stood at the gates with his own pistol drawn, a cold smile on his face as he mowed down the protestors. This was as efficient as it gets. And to think Revach had given him four days. It was almost laughable. Cain had been hoping for an opportunity to show his loyalty to Revach; after all, he owed his position to him. It was Revach who had found Cain, the menial worker on the streets of Mantle, and gave him the opportunity to rise in the party. Revach, who had given him the money to host a proper wedding. Revach, who allowed him to finally earn a home.

After the massacre, around thirty people lay dead in the streets. Almost half of them died from trauma to the head or internal haemorrhaging rather than Dust blasts. Cain opened the gates and walked outside, checking for survivors. He arrived at a small girl, around twelve years old, who was twitching on the ground. She had blood seeping out of a cut in her abdomen, but it was only a light wound caused by a Dust blast grazing her. Cain raised his pistol.

'Stop, that's enough.'

Revach was standing at the gates. He rushed out and bent down to feel the girl's pulse. Then he called over one of the policemen to carry her inside the government building and told him to get a doctor.

'Come with me, Cain.'

Cain was shocked by Revach's sudden coldness. However, he followed silently and obediently. To the policemen and the Specialists, Cain had acted seriously out of line, and was now being disciplined. It was the same for the people who hadn't run away, but stayed behind to see if they could rescue the injured. Lurking in the shadows, they saw Cain as the villain who had ordered the shooting and Revach as the man putting him in his place.

The two of them went to Revach's temporary office, and Revach shut the door. The room was designed to be moderately soundproof, and only loud noises would be heard on the other side. There already a man in the room. He was tall, and slim like a drawn rapier, sitting in a chair next to the door. Revach sat down and motioned for Cain to take the seat opposite his own, putting Cain's back to the door.

'All right, Cain. You've done reasonably well. But I'm afraid I have to ask one more thing of you.'

'I'll do anything for ya.'

'Well, I actually need to borrow something. And I can't really give it back… or it will be rather difficult to give back'

'What is it?'

'Your life. But not in your body, you see.'

As Revach said this, the gentleman sitting next to the door drew out a pistol, and shot Cain in the back. Cain suddenly sat up straight for the first time ever and his hands stiffened into claws. He didn't even have the time for revelation or surprise, slumping sideways off the chair. The gentleman had used blue Dust, and the blood that would have spilled out had instead frozen into red crystals.

'Congratulations Harrison. It seems you just earned a promotion.'

The gentleman known as Harrison smiled.

'I hope I won't end up like him.'

'Don't worry. I don't think you're as daft as him. As long as you're competent, you'll be fine. I have a pet hate for vulgar, incapable subordinates.'

* * *

A quickly assembled stage was erected at one side of the town centre. On it stood Revach and Cynthia, and the base of the stage was surrounded by policemen. They had been ordered to not carry weapons, thus looking very vulnerable saluting without their holstered pistols. They made a favourable impression upon the sizeable crowd gathering in front of the stage. Those civilians who had seen Revach saving the girl spread the story, and the people had gathered out of interest, hope and respect. However, they were still jumpy from the scene they witnessed two days ago.

The early morning chill had already dissipated by the time the microphones had been tested and a podium had been transported onto the stage. Revach was wearing a black suit, a black tie and over it all was a black coat. He had a solemn look in his eyes as he stepped up to the podium. By that time, the town centre was almost two thirds full, with roughly four hundred or so people standing there waiting.

'Ladies and gentlemen. Children. Friends. Colleagues…'

Revach's voice was full of regret. He looked from one face to another in the crowd, pleading to each individual.

'I am Revach Emory, the fifth seat of the Council of Mantle. I understand there was a shooting two days ago. It pains me to say that the man who committed such a heinous crime was someone who worked under me. Please believe me when I say although I have many flaws, I am an honest man, and I am sincerely sorry for what happened.

The punishment, by the military code, is execution. The military has given him a merciful death. I am sorry to say the man in question, Cain, probably did not suffer. He did not have to experience the loss of loved ones. If I knew his temper just a little bit better, I would not have appointed him for such an important task. I would have not allowed his rise in the Party. Please forgive me…'

There was a hushed silence as the people took in his words.

'This event will always be on my mind, and I can assure you I will never make such a mistake ever again so no one has to go through the same suffering. I will ensure that extremists and sadists like Cain are never in positions of power ever again. And I will do my utmost in ensuring the prosperity of this town, as a way of apology. But you must also help me.

I now ask the citizens of Liquid to help your humble servant. Grimm attacks are on the rise, and our specialists are stretched ever so thin. Please… consider my proposal. The ban on expressionism was intended to be a way to keep the population safe while minimising our spending on the military so the government could focus our income to help the society. We are building hospitals, schools and expanding our education system.

We need the help of every citizen. Please help me in stopping the Grimm so I can help you. I will help you rebuild. And I will make sure nothing like this ever happens again.'

At this, Revach looked at the ground and dropped into a awkward bow. There was a silence. Then a man cheered, and began to clap just as Revach had arranged. That man was Harrison. He was alone for a moment, before the crowd burst into cheers and applause as well. Really, people were so easy to manipulate. Several minutes passed before the cheering died down.

He stepped off the stage and into the crowd. The men and women parted before him like a wave being split by a jagged rock. The cheers had died down to a soft murmur. As arranged, Harrison came out to meet him from the government building. Revach turned back to the crowd as he reached Harrison.

'This man here, Harrison Kyle, is a personal friend of mine whom I have vetted. He will be the new overseer for the project. I promise all of you, that under him you will all be treated equally and respectfully.'

As Revach, Harrison and Cynthia entered the government building, Revach allowed a sigh of relief. Even though everything had gone to plan, it was still a relief to see it occurring. He pulled out his Scroll – the equivalent of a phone – and typed a memo to the other council members.

'Matter solved.'

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hi guys. If you're seeing this, thanks for reading so far. This is my first ever fanfic, so the pacing and action might seem a bit weird.**

 **Some of you might notice some weird spelling patterns. It's probably because I'm an Australian (G'day mate), and... we do it slightly differently. For example, favor is favour, meter is metre, protester is protestor (although this last example isn't as accurate for grammar nerds) etc. I hope you can bear with the culture difference :P**

 **Also, if you want to see some my character cheat sheets, please PM or leave a review, if there's anyone who does I'll start putting them up at the end of the next chapter.**

 **Have a cracker of a day, mate!**


	5. Only the Guiltless May Find Rest

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 4: Only the Guiltless May Find Rest…

 _One week before Revach leaves for Liquid…_

Judith Williams saw herself as the only rational member on the Council of Mantle, and her coup d'état was to usher in a new age of openness in Mantle. Black was, obviously, a power hungry maniac, whose self-serving influence could eventually corrupt the country: turning it from a forward democracy to an oppressive regime. To Judith, there was simply no way an inherently 'good' person could have held onto the position of Chairman for so long. She also saw Revach as his loyal puppy, and from his absurd proposal of the ban on expressionism a month ago, he was obviously in cahoots with Black. Suppressing individualism made it so much easier to rule the people. Ironwood was an old cow, but at least he had his heart in the right place. He was probably the only person who worked for the good of Mantle instead of the good of themselves, but he was too scared to make a move. If Judith could convince him that Black and Revach were working against the state, he would undoubtedly side with her. And then there was Schnee. He was a total wild card but Judith had heard of his exploits. Supposedly, he was the strongest Huntsman to have ever come out of Riverton Academy, at least the Riverton in Vale. When he renounced his title, he lead a group of Specialists to eliminate the Huntsmen, and fought the Professors five on one. The rumour was that he killed Headmaster Ozpin after a spectacular duel and almost wiped out everyone in the school. However, he was met by his long time friend and scythe-wielder: Professor Arthur Branwen. Branwen had held off the injured Schnee long enough for everyone to escape, and in the process, killed Xander's two sisters. He was preparing to finish off Xander when his mob of Specialists interrupted them, and Branwen was forced to flee due to the sheer number of adversaries.

Judith was never able to put her finger on the man. His loyalties were gray, his research into dust seemed far too obsessive and even his daughter's were total enigmas. However, he was a sharp man who wouldn't hesitate to eliminate his enemies. Judith always had a feeling of unease when she was alone with Schnee, and she trusted her gut as much as her brain. He would be a powerful ally, but if he was, his unreadable face and scrutinizing gaze would make Judith paranoid sooner or later. The real question was, did she need Schnee and his technology for her coup d'état? Or can she overwhelm him regardless of his reputation as a fighter? Schnee wasn't a formidable adversary because of his tech. It was because of his skill as a Huntsman. Judith often scoffed at theories of a potential one man army, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Schnee.

There were several key ingredients to a successful coup. The first ingredient was 'military'. In the case of Mantle, there were three military forces. There was the army, the Specialists and the city guards (not to be mistaken as the police). The army and the Specialists were under Ironwood, and the city guards were with Revach.

There were two ways of obtaining military superiority. One of them was to increase military might until her forces could beat Black's forces. The second was to minimise Black's forces until they were below her own. Judith was planning to take the former approach by swaying Ironwood to her side. He was a man of honour, and that made it easy to do if his morals were compromised. She would simply have to show him how corrupt of a leader Black was.

A second ingredient was 'social', or the will of the people. If public opinion was on Black's side, there was no way Judith could launch a coup as the people she would rule over could rebel. Judith wanted a reasonably bloodless coup d'état so she could avoid a civil war afterwards. Luckily, Ironwood was extremely popular, and his straightforward and honourable nature struck a chord with the people.

The final ingredient is 'economic'. Judith needed a functioning economy after the coup to ensure that Mantle could continue on as a nation. If the change in leadership resulted in trade with Mistral or Vale to be cut off, it meant her reign would be short and unpopular. However, she thought she could lift Vale's recent trade embargo if she abolished Revach's absurd ban on expressionism.

But her hands were rather tied. Revach's men were everywhere; after all, the general secretary had control of the party. Revach could also read messages which went in and out of everyone's work Scrolls, and Council members were not permitted personal Scrolls due to security issues. If a personal Scroll was hacked, the lost information could easily be damaging for Mantle.

Thus, she contacted Ash. She was an old childhood friend who chose to join the Military Academy and was picked for Specialist training. They had been in contact here and there, but since they worked in different departments they rarely met anymore. She typed a short message into her Scroll before walking into the elevator to her office. It read:

"Hey Ashlyn! I have Saturday afternoon off. Wanna go for a cup of coffee at Belle's? Be cool to see you again. Oh and bring Eins, I miss that puppy! Hope you can make it – Judy."

When Saturday rolled around, Ashlyn and Judith were monitored by Revach's men. Their report on the pair of women was short:

JW catching up with old friend Specialist Ashlyn Hayes at Belle's Café. 20 minutes. No points of interest.

However, when Ashlyn arrived home, she realised there was a small piece of paper under Eins' collar. It read "Please tell Ironwood to meet me in secret at the Gargoyle Courtyard, 1am on Monday"

* * *

'I think you are underestimating Black's lust for power, Ironwood. When he has the chance, he will become a dictator and rule over Mantle for the sake of preserving his own power.'

Two figures were sitting facing each other in the Gargoyle Courtyard. The courtyard was at the edge of Mantle, and it was falling into disrepair as no one visited it, and thus no one complained. The stone ground was cracked and frozen, unlike the streets of Mantle where the snow was constantly swept away and salt was used to stop the ground from freezing into ice sheets. There were four stone gargoyles in each corner, and each one wore a different expression. They were all positioned to look towards the centre of the courtyard and at the two hooded figures. Judith had chosen her hood so her face would be covered, but Ironwood's was only to keep him warm.

'It truly takes another to convince myself I am not paranoid. Yes, I understand where you're coming from. He will certainly be a tyrant given the chance. But a coup d'état…'

'I need your help Leon.'

'And I need a guarantee.'

'What is it?'

'My family needs to be safe. I'm moving them out of Mantle until the coup is over, for the better or worse. You're the treasurer. You can cover up their financial trail to Mistral. Just make their transactions go missing or something along those lines so they will be safe if we fail.'

'Done. And in exchange, I can rely on you and the military for the coup?'

'Yes. They all have the utmost respect for me. But the Specialists… I can only guarantee that my five personal guards will be loyal. It's not because I doubt them, but because they've trained with Xander. Although they come back to the military after their training, they're still his men through and through.'

'Right… That's a problem then. I didn't account for a division in loyalty. If that's the case, then we might need Schnee after all…'

'I'd feel more comfortable with that man on our side. If he was against us, he'll cause way too many casualties just by himself. And you said yourself you wanted a bloodless coup.'

'Could you get one of your specialists to tell him to meet us here? Tomorrow morning at one.'

'Can do. But what if he turns against us?'

'We can position your specialists so they can intervene if something goes wrong.'

'I'm more worried for you, Williams. I can still run as fast as I used to, you know. My Specialists can slow him down while I get away, but past that, you'll just be fodder.'

'…That's very touching General. But we need to get rid of Black before he turns this country into a dictatorship. And I'm willing to risk it for Schnee's assistance…'

'You'll also have to fill me in on how you expect me to do it. Give me a rough idea of the parameters for the mission.'

'But shouldn't you be in charge of troop positioning, General? You should know much better than a lowly treasurer.'

'But you said we needed to make a good impression on the civilians, right? The most effective military deployment might not result in the least casualties. At least for the defenders. It's more of a psychological battle; we need to make them see the futility in resisting.'

'Very true… Well, I'll think about that. But if we don't have Schnee, the entire plan might fall apart. Especially if you don't think your Specialist team can deal with Schnee.'

'Not by a long shot. Schnee is the best fighter I've ever seen. The two Branwen's are the only ones who can match him.'

'All right then. Let's meet up with him tomorrow and see what he thinks. Come at nine PM tomorrow, it should start getting dark then.'

'It's a pity the summer days at the Poles last so long. Otherwise, we could have this meeting earlier and this old man could have some more sleep.'

As the next night arrived, Ironwood and Judith arrived with it. They sat there, planning, until a shadow plodded into view. When it appeared around the corner, the figure's movements were balanced and Judith could hardly hear the sound of crunching snow. That's Schnee for sure. Despite the low light, his gait was unmistakable. Judith smiled under her hood as Schnee arrived wearing a long navy coat. After sitting down, he didn't seem to want to speak so Judith began the conversation.

'Don't worry Schnee. We may talk in peace here. The only eyes that could be watching us are those stone gargoyles; if you look closely, they almost seem alive! And if we are found, those gargoyles are quite friendly; they might even come to life and shield us from harm… But I doubt we'll be disturbed.'

'Indeed, those gargoyles are most vigilant. I'm sure the five stone sentinels will be able to protect us most adequately.'

Schnee's casual reply made Judith's hair on her neck stand up. There were only four gargoyles in the courtyard. When Judith mentioned the gargoyles, she was saying that the group were being watched and protected, and that no civilians or other people would disturb them. Schnee obviously knew about the five Specialists Ironwood had stationed around the courtyard. The thought that this could have been an assassination attempt must have crossed his mind upon noticing them, but Schnee had approached them anyway, which showed his absolute confidence.

What a fearsome man.

'In that case, I should explain why we're here. I was planning –'

' – a coup d'état.'

Judith stopped. Next to her, the General chuckled before speaking.

'Informed as usual, Schnee.'

'So… you want me to participate? Then you'd better give me some bloody good terms.'

'Well, you need to give us a glimpse of what you want first. After all, you're quite an enigma Schnee.'

Schnee stopped, with a sneer on his face. However, it disappeared so quickly that Judith thought it must have just been a trick of the light.

'I want you to fund my research. I want my personal space. And I want you to stay away from my projects.'

Judith spoke up.

'That's rather vague. How much funding? When do you need it?'

'However much I want, and whenever I need it.'

'...'

Schnee already knew about the coup, but hadn't revealed it to Black. There was no way she could reject him now, despite his outrageous terms. Judith knew that. However, there was a tiny part of her which wanted to deny Schnee and call in the Specialists. She wanted to see with her own eyes exactly how powerful Schnee was. But it was only a fleeting thought, and she looked him in the eye before speaking.

'It's Monday today. We'll be going ahead with the coup this Sunday afternoon as people would be more likely to be at home and out of the way. However, before the coup, it would be better if Black was dead. Cynthia could be the assassin; no one will be able to stop her as the head of security for the Council.'

'So you accept my terms?'

'It seems that I must.'

Schnee smiled, but hesitated before speaking once more.

'I'm afraid Cynthia can't do that. Even though she's my daughter, she is very loyal to Black despite what you might think. She hardly listens to me anymore after… Well, never mind that now. There is another solution. We lure Black to Mantle's new colonies in Northern Anima and destroy his airbus on the way using some timed explosives. It's cleaner: all the evidence will be at the bottom of the ocean.'

Judith weighed the pros and cons. The obvious advantage was that there would be minimal evidence. Black would simply disappear. The downside was that she couldn't use Black's death to deal psychological damage to the defending soldiers. But this was a minor detail, so Judith gave in.

'…Very well, Schnee. But I wanted to ask a question before you leave. You came here knowing about the five Specialists, right? I won't ask how you know, but do you really think that you can take them on?'

Schnee dusted off the back of his coat.

'That's two questions. And I don't just think I can, I know I can.'

* * *

The council had convened once again. The five members sat around the table, Schnee with his long fingers crossed, Black looking as inscrutable as ever, Ironwood who was smoking a cigar and Revach, who was twirling a white bishop in one hand and held a glass of amber liquid in the other. It was Black's turn to vote on sending Revach to Liquid.

Revach had made matters much simpler for Judith by proposing a visit to Liquid. With Revach going to Liquid, the assassination suddenly became much easier. Cynthia, who was responsible for the security of the Council, could be sent to accompany Revach as his mission would be deemed much more dangerous. Since the civil unrest was an emergency, Revach would most likely leave immediately, while Black would be leaving after. This meant that Cynthia wouldn't be there for the final check-up for Black's airbus.

'I decline.'

Black's voice cut through the air like a sharpened sword. Judith looked at him, and he looked back. She glanced at Revach and smiled.

'I accept.'

Judith spaced out as the Council moved onto matters about Vacuo and the training of new specialists, waiting for the final topic. Schnee, however, gave a lengthy and boring report about the benefits of technology in the training of new Specialists, and successfully irritated Judith to the point where she sent him a private memo saying "hurry the f up".

Finally, the Council arrived at the topic of the new territories in Northern Anima. As planned, Ironwood proposed that one of the Council members be sent to compile a detailed report about the new territory. At this, Black spoke up.

'I agree that we should be sending one of the Council. I hope that none of you will take offense when I say that I want the management of Northern Anima to be handled perfectly, and thus I do not trust anyone but myself to be administrating this.'

Judith, Ironwood, Schnee and Black were all gathered on hoverpad four a day after the Council meeting. Black wasn't his usual self today; he did not speak during the entire walk up to the hoverpad. Schnee had told them all that Black was not feeling well but was still going ahead with his journey by airbus. Judith smiled on the inside as Black boarded. The airbus had been rigged with digital timed detonators, which by her calculations, will explode right between Anima and Solitos. She waved as Black boarded.

'Make sure you have a very safe trip, Chairman.'

However, as the airbus began to ascend, there was a twinge in her gut. This was far too easy.


	6. And Now Our Players Assemble

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 5: And Now Our Players Assemble

Five thousand metres above the ocean, there was an explosion. It ripped straight through the engines, detonating in a fashion which, if it were investigated, would be put down as engine failure. The airbus that was heading for Northern Anima began to fall apart.

Three figures jumped out. They all wore rectangular packages on their backs. Spreading their arms out, they began to try to steer themselves as a skydiver would. Then, all three of them simultaneously pulled on the cords.

But nothing happened.

They tried again and again, and each time was more and more frantic. But nothing happened.

One would hope the impact of hitting the water would have killed them, or at least knocked them unconscious. Otherwise, they would die a slow death from drowning, hypothermia, or even worse, be eaten by a Grimm.

* * *

Xander was in his research facility. He was with several leading Dust scientists, engineers and software developers, discussing the creation of autonomous robotic units which could be replace both the army and the city guard. As he dismissed them, his Scroll vibrated in his pocket.

'Hello Cynthia. What a surprise for you to be calling your father.'

'What's going on? I was giving Black a report on the mission at Liquid but he hasn't responded with further orders.'

'I don't know. Maybe he hasn't received the message. He should have arrived in Northern Anima by now.'

'Don't give me that bullshit. You're the head researcher; you know that the signal is worldwide.'

'I-'

'Your hiding something, aren't you?'

Xander was both proud and irritated at the same time. He had raised an intelligent and poignant daughter, but right now, it was getting in the way.

'Black won't be around-'

'What did you do.'

Cynthia said it like a statement, implying that she knew Xander had already done something. Xander gave an audible sigh through the Scroll.

'Black is… unavailable at the moment. Look, honey, I'm a bit busy as of right now. I'll call you back when it's a good time.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.'

'Father… Dad… whatever you're going to say, I think you should tell Revach as well.'

Xander was shocked for a moment.

'Why?'

'Although he seems ambitious, he's working for Mantle. He's just like Black. He's working for the nation and the people rather than himself.'

'…Ok Cynthia. I'll call you back when it's a good time and you can tell him.'

Xander collapsed his scroll and continued his most recent research project – Lilia's blood samples.

* * *

'Revach, I need to talk to you in private before we leave.'

'You can talk to me now, Ice Queen. But if this is going to be a confession, I prefer girls who are less arrogant.'

'Shut up. This is really important.'

'I can't really believe a snitch for Xander could tell me anything important.'

'Williams and Ironwood are planning a coup on next Monday.'

Revach choked on his whiskey. Some of it came back out and dripped out of the corners of his mouth. He put on a sarcastic smile and picked up his dinner napkin to wipe his chin.

'That was a really bad joke.'

'It's not.'

Revach glanced at her. She stared right back. Pushing away his plate, Revach stood up and addressed the servant of the government building.

'You can have the steak, I haven't touched it.'

The servant bowed and took the platter. As she did, Revach picked up the bottle of whiskey and his glass. They exited the dining room and headed upstairs to Revach's office. Cynthia kept trying to walk ahead, but Revach slowed her down, saying 'it's Thursday evening right now. Calm down. We have time. Your father used to be the most feared Huntsman; he can take care of himself'. They met up with Harrison on the stairs who was heading down for dinner as well, but a quick word caused him to turn around and follow Revach back up the stairs.

Once they were ensconced in Revach's moderately soundproofed room, Revach turned to Cynthia once more.

'Could you elaborate further? Also, give me all the details. Every tiny bit matters, ok, Cynthia?'

She took a moment to compose herself.

'This afternoon, I sent a message to Black requesting further instructions. I asked if he required me to go to Northern Anima with him. However, Black did not respond, and I thought this was odd as he usually replies straight away. Thus, I called my father for clarification.

When I did, something was wrong in his tone. I pestered him until he promised to tell me what was going on. He said he was busy, and would tell me upon leaving the workplace and he couldn't be overheard. He also said Black was indisposed.

Around twenty minutes ago, dad gave me another call. He told me that Williams and Ironwood were conspiring against Mantle and were going to attempt a coup d'état next Monday. He's given me a rough overview of the plan, as he was also invited for the coup. But he says that they only invited him as a last resort, as they didn't want it to be Ironwood's army fighting both the Specialists and the city guard.

But dad has a deal with Black. Some sort of research priority, I didn't really understand it when he told me. He said he was fighting against something called Salem, and Black agreed to give him as much funding as he needed. So dad has decided go against the coup in favour of his current deal with Black. I convinced him that you were trustworthy, and he's told me to confide in you.'

There was silence after Cynthia's long report. Revach motioned towards the seats, and everyone sat down around his work table. There was silence for a few minutes, and then Revach spoke. He had his fingers crossed over his glass of whiskey, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

'It looks like we'll be in for a couple of busy nights. I hope that I will be able to trust the two of you, because now is not the time for questioning loyalties. Doubt will only lead to inaction, and we will lose our opportunity to seize the initiative. I will put out three assumptions. If you think they are wrong, tell me now.

One: since Mantle is a militaristic nation, Ironwood's army can take down both the Specialists and the city guard.

Two: the city guard will fight back and not immediately surrender.

Three: if there's a bigger threat, Ironwood will turn his army to face it rather than continue the coup.'

There was silence as Harrison and Cynthia processed his points. A few seconds later, they both nodded. Revach continued.

'I have a plan. Cynthia, I will need you to look up the construction of the walls of Mantle City. If Ironwood and Williams are planning a coup, they will have the military already out on the streets by Monday. We don't have the same military capacity I'm afraid, so we'll be relying on less savoury methods. I need you to identify weak spots so we can blow holes in the wall to let Grimm in. Once you've identified them, show me, and I'll give you an airbus and some remotely detonated explosives so you can leave right away. Also, tell your father to ramp up his Dust generator from 40% to 80%. The heat from the generators combined with the fear of the people in seeing the military moving in should draw Grimm over. Once they weaken Ironwood's forces, we can sweep in to clean them both up.

Harrison: there are two things I need you to do as well. Firstly, inform the city guard and the Specialists of the impending coup attempt, and tell them that I will be doing my utmost to stop them. Ask if any of them wish to journey with me to Mantle City. You should be able to use the goodwill I've generated with these people. Then, gather the volunteers into squads with a chain of command and tell the Specialists to directly report to me. Secondly, I'll need you to organise enough transport for everyone. Both tasks need to be done Sunday evening at the latest, as the journey by airbus will take around four hours.

Any questions?'

Harrison spoke up first.

'You're compartmentalising too much. I need a better understanding of the objectives so I can act independently if communications are ever cut off or I need to make a quick decision.'

'Since you will be organising and commanding this volunteer army, I will inform you of the majority of the objectives on Saturday evening. I'm choosing Saturday as you should be done recruiting by then and we should have a reasonable grasp on our numbers, so I can better tailor my plan. Cynthia, you will be leaving as soon as possible. I hope you can understand that I can't give you more information in case you're caught.'

Cynthia looked at him.

'Yeah, I understand.'

'Then, the best of luck to you, Ms Snow Angel.'

'You too, Secretary van Terzhieff Emory'

She looked surprised but grateful at the change of nickname, and sarcastically poked fun at Revach's excessive last name.

'You should be your way as well, Harrison.'

'One thing first. May I ask what you will be doing while we're preparing?'

'Trying to think of the different ways General Ironwood is likely to position his forces. We'll be up against both the army and the Specialists. The city guard won't be able to last long under those conditions. Since Black is out of the picture, we will have to assume that his own personal troops won't be fighting either. Schnee might pull out some weird tech if it gets desperate enough, but I'd rather not have some prototype Dust cannon blow up half the city.'

'What about Schnee himself? If he were to join the fight, it could turn the tide…'

'He would just be a huge target. He can't do much if they pin him down, and Ironwood should be smart enough to know that. If Schnee can't get close, he won't be able to inflict any damage.'

'I see… Well, this battle seems to rely on how many Grimm we can attract to the city. But what if we accidentally let something in we can't kill?'

'Then Schnee can do that for us. Just in case, I'll hire Fang from Riverton as well; we'll need to clean up after everything is said and done, and it'll be good to have a precaution.'

* * *

Erisar ran at Fang, his cloak lashing out from his left hand side. Fang, with his blade already deployed on his gauntlet, deflected the cape and closed the distance as well. Erisar pretended to throw a telegraphed right hook but instead used the momentum to hide his swing into a roundhouse kick aiming for the waist. Of course, an experienced Huntsman like Fang didn't let that happen. He jumped away from the punch but closed in just before Erisar could start his kick. Ducking, he grabbed Erisar's foot with his left hand and flung him downwards.

Erisar hit the ground with a roll and snapped back onto his feet. The built-up momentum made him slide a couple of metres back. Raising his arms, he barely assumed a ready position as Fang pressed his advantage. Fang executed a series of quick slashes from his Gauntlet Blade, which were parried by Erisar's iridium hardened gloves. Unlike younger Huntsmen, Fang didn't overcompensate when it came to attacking, preferring to shut out angles of possible counterattack rather than swinging his blade as hard as he could. He knew that if he gave Erisar an inch, the boy would take a mile.

Fang's continued slashes drove Erisar back, never allowing him to regain balance. For Erisar, Fang was unlike any opponent he had fought before. Fang's attacks always ended with his blade ready to both parry and flow into the next attack, and he never took full swings which meant his weapon was always a threat. Because of this, the blows that Erisar threw out were easily parried. Also, Fang varied the tempo of his attacks and never fell into a rhythm Erisar could exploit.

From a bystander's point of view, this match might have been pretty even. But Erisar knew he couldn't keep it up for much longer. Fang was driving at him again and again, and sooner or later Erisar would make misjudgement or even a mistake. His continued flurry of blows was expertly smooth, frustrating Erisar. Growing reckless, he swept his cape at Fang create distance and punched the ground with his Dust-laced gloves to try and break Fang's momentum.

A shard of ice erupted from the ground where Erisar's hand was and shot straight at Fang's chest. Any normal Huntsman would have either parried it or backed away, but Fang ran onto it head-on. But instead of harming him, the ice turned into steam before it could hit. Erisar gasped in surprise. Fang emerged from the cloud of vapour and dropped his shoulder. Laughing at Erisar's incredulous look, he rammed him in the chest, throwing him into Lilia who was sparring next to them.

'Ow! Watch it you idiot! Oh hey Erisar, did you lose again?'

'Losing is the mild way of putting it. I don't think I've even managed to land a direct hit. It's more like Fang's getting a good laugh in while beating the shit out of me.'

Fang walked over to the two of them sprawled on the ground.

'It's like there's a magnet on you Eri. This is the third time you've ended on top of Lilia.'

Lilia blushed, but Erisar was quick to retort.

'Just because you never found true love until Revach doesn't mean everyone is so inexperienced. Besides, it's getting pretty obvious you're just being a jerk and aiming your shoulder charges so I always fly into her.'

'Hahaha… You did good this time, Eri. You timed your attacks well, and the ice spike was a pretty good try. It's unlucky you were fighting me, though, but I think you're ready for Kat's little test.'

Erisar rolled off of Lilia. He was too tired to stand up after a day of sparring so he sat on the sandy ground.

'Yeah… How did you manage that? Like, how did all the ice suddenly evaporate?'

'Do you know my Semblance?'

'Don't you nullify sound? I remember Rackon telling me something like that.'

'Yes and no. I can control vibrations up to ten centimetres away from my body. Sound is pretty much made of vibrations, so I can control sound. I can also instantly heat up the ice you made by vibrating the particles to give them energy which turned it into water vapour.'

'I thought you said we weren't using Semblances. Otherwise I would have used my shadows, you cheater.'

'It was too good of an opportunity. And you're not meant to be using your Semblance because you rely on it too much.'

Erisar pulled a face at Fang and looked around. All around the Colosseum were students training in the fading light. Some were sparring without their weapons while others used theirs under the watchful eye of the Professors. An absurd sword caught Erisar's attention. It was quite normal until the tip, which, instead of tapering off to a sharp point, had a lion's head open in a roar. As Erisar continued to watch, the student aimed his blade at his opponent and unleashed what seemed to be a jet of fire out of the lion's mouth. Erisar shook his head. The younger generation were getting more and more ridiculous. He sighed and muttered to himself 'how does a sword like that even fit into a sheath?'

Then a voice spoke from above him.

'Ay lad, I was wondering the same about you and Lilia.'

Erisar looked up. The General stood there, his silver hair gleaming. Resigned to being the object of the General's casual bullying once more, Erisar tried and failed to get to his feet.

'Sit down. I saw your duel; you need to stop getting your ass whooped. Besides, I'm here for Fang. Oi! Get over here Fang! Gotta new job for you. Revach asked for you personally, wanted to know if you could help him with some Grimm stuff.'

Fang strode over, his clothes and face covered from the sandy dust of the Colosseum.

'General Branwen. What is it?'

'Revach said a Grimm army was moving on Mantle City. He wanted you to go over and help them clean up.'

Fang thought about it. If the Grimm were attacking right now, he wouldn't get there in time.

'How far away is it? It'll take me around two and a half days to reach Mantle by airbus because I'll have to go through Vale. There's no place to refuel on the Unknown Continent.'

'Revach said three days. If you leave on Friday morning, you'll get there around Sunday afternoon.'

'He'd better be paying for the airfares on top of the contract.'

'He'll also be paying the team 10,000 Mantle credits. And yeah, he said he'll pay for the travel, he said he'll pay your team double, so it covers the return trip.'

'Sure. I'll do it. Who's coming with me?'

'Well, Revach used the words "Grimm army", so I assume we'll need to send around four Huntsmen.'

'Hmm, I wonder what he's doing over there… But shouldn't there be less Grimm attacks? I mean, aren't they trialling a ban on expressionism?'

'Yeah, they are. Just… He might try to manipulate you, pay extra attention to what he wants you to do. If it has anything to do with politics, cut the job right there.'

'I got it, General. I'll start packing after dinner.'

'Good luck, Fang. Meet me at six tomorrow morning at the town entrance. I'll pick the rest of your team and send them along well.'

* * *

 **Sorry this is late, I had roughly 10 chapters' worth of material + scenes before I began working to streamline it into a story. Then, exam week struck. As it happens, I completed the prologue Maidens on the day before exams, and the rest of it came out during exam week. I still did my best to write and edit each chapter so I could upload one a day but my 3U maths is next and I actually need to do some revision (when Asians are about to fail maths feelsbadman). Anyway, the Coup D'état arc is all about intricate plans and opposing ideologies so I wanted to make sure it's polished. Thanks for reading this far, this is my first time writing a fanfic, so yeah…**


	7. Preparing the Pieces

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 6: Preparing the Pieces

Harrison was pushing himself to his limits. He knew that preventing this coup would either be his crowning achievement or his untimely demise, and as of the moment, it looked like he had chosen the losing side. As Revach's right hand man, he could not change allegiances now without destroying his own reputation, and although he might survive, he wouldn't be able to maintain a steady position for long. Judith may be more kind and recognise his talents but Ironwood was a man of honour. He did not tolerate traitors, and once Harrison was used, he would be disposed of. However, the only way for the defenders to win was to play with Ironwood's honour. They needed to trust that he would work for the good of Mantle and turn his army save the city from the Grimm rather than continue the coup. Harrison laughed to himself as he raced towards the city guard's barracks. Was Revach a genius or just a gambler playing the odds? Harrison hoped he was the former, but Revach's plan depended on so many variables going his way. They would first need to attract a large enough number of Grimm to rival Ironwood's army, hope for Ironwood's honour to triumph over his greed and then be able to eliminate the Grimm before they rampaged all over the city. Whichever angle Revach took when explaining his plan, this was obviously a tightrope act. Thus, every city guard Revach could scrounge up from Liquid could matter. He couldn't falter now. He knew it. His heart was beginning to beat more and more incessantly, clogging up at the base of his throat. Slowing down, he took a pill out of a canister and swallowed it with a gulp of water from a canteen. Revach had already sent a message ahead to the city guard barracks so despite the lateness, there was din in the mess hall.

Harrison opened the door. Apprehension dug at him. Despite the frosty evening, his palms began to sweat up and he tried to wipe them on his trousers before anyone noticed. He did not have Revach's natural talent for speaking, nor had he enough time to prepare more than the key points to his speech. As the crowd of city guards in their black uniforms parted, Harrison saw a loudspeaker prepared for him on a table near the canteen. He strolled over pretending to be confident. Picking up the mouthpiece, he mentally braced himself and then spoke, his voice wavering slightly.

'Hey everyone. Uh, I don't know how much General Secretary Revach has told you already, but, uh, there's a bit of a problem in Mantle City right now. Two members of the council, the Treasurer and the General are planning to use their army to take control of our kingdom. So… um… We need your help… to stop them.

We don't have the right to make you come. I don't even know if helping us will make your lives better. In fact, you might have targets on your backs if we lose. However! I ask you to fight for what you think is right! If you're OK with someone else making Mantle's policies, so be it. But please give me a chance to try and convince you.

What the General and the Treasurer are doing is not right! They're trying to take power for themselves. They want Mantle under their control so they can rebuild it into a military state. Our Chairman, James Black, is missing. They've already shown their hand. It's now up to the two other Council members, Xander Schnee and Revach Emory, to stop these tyrants!'

The crowd of city guards were growing restless. They whispered to each other during Harrison's pauses, occasionally forming small groups so they could discuss the coming coup in more detail. Harrison's occasional stutter and sometimes shaky voice had much more impact on these men than Revach's smooth political speech. They could relate to him as he wasn't the "perfect man" Revach had shown himself to be, only as someone trying his best in hard times. And this made the men want to help him. The roughness of his speech made it far more genuine and human than anything Revach could have done himself.

'Help me! Help me fight against these monsters! We can't let them be the rulers of Mantle; they'll just take it apart!'

Now was the time for Harrison's trump card. The men here were already familiar with Revach and his swift actions to stop the murderer Cain.

'Revach will save us! He has a plan ready to stop these power-hungry maniacs… but we need your help! We need you to come with us to Mantle. And we need you to bring these traitors of Mantle to justice.

That's all I wanted to say. If you want to help us, please stay behind. If not, then have a good evening.'

The crowd grew silent at this. Then, a man began to clap. He was alone for a few seconds and then everyone joined in. Although a few people here and there left the room, Harrison couldn't believe his success. Maybe if this many people came, he and Revach stood a chance. He would need to immediately organise the men into divisions and establish a chain of command before organising airbuses for transporting almost two hundred men.

* * *

Cynthia Schnee could already see the light emitted by Mantle from her airship. Revach had found one of the old Army airships which were used to transport strike teams, meaning that it was far less noticeable than a bulky airbus. It was painted white for camouflage and that, along with flying very close to the ground, allowed Cynthia and her pilot to elude Mantle's automated defence system. As they approached, the imposing walls of Mantle stood up to oppose them, almost eight metres in height. The outside of the wall was made of a flexible, heat-resistant ceramic her father had invented and a layer of shock-absorbent concrete which completely nullifies red Dust and explosives. Cynthia had studied the construction of the wall in detail, and concluded that she needed to plant the explosives on the inside. As the airship approached the wall, Cynthia put on a satchel with food and a cloak, choosing not to wear the cloak as it would restrict her movement. She also grabbed two packs of explosives and drew her weapon. She was a traditionalist, preferring to use her very own estoc blade. Since the estoc was a thrusting weapon, the blade was long and slender making it easy to slip between armour plates, and hers had minor modifications such as a Dust gun in the hilt and two ring guards on top of the regular crossguard.

The airship approached the circle of lights and stopped just outside the radius. Cynthia waved her blade to conjure a set of glyphs with her Semblance, using them as steps to descend from the airship. As she approached the wall, she could see two guards standing next to each other. They were the only ones on duty. Approaching the wall at a sprint, she conjured more glyphs on the wall and ran up them. The two men only saw her after she had surmounted the wall, her fluid dress whipping out behind her. With an elegant pirouette, Cynthia stabbed twice with her estoc, piecing the voice box of the two soldiers. As they silently clutched at their throats, the only sound they could make were the gurgle of blood and a soft thud as they collapsed.

From the air Mantle looked like a hexagon cut into the side of a mountain, and with natural barriers at its back, Mantle had three walls. Cynthia only needed to bring down one side; if more than one were to fall, too much Grimm are let into the city and it would be a bloodbath. She jumped down the other side of the wall and onto the roof of a house. The roofs in Mantle were mainly made of metal sheets with heating cables which prevent the build-up of snow, making them easier to walk on despite the extreme angulations. As she jumped from roof to roof, city guards on patrol often walked straight under her, never looking up.

To accommodate Mantle's sewer system, each wall had one specific weak point where the sewer went underneath it. On the eastern side, it was guarded around the clock as they were potential points of entry for enemy military or Grimm. During her time at the Military Academy, Cynthia had learned about the different solutions when confronted with an obstacle. The first was to go through it, but Cynthia couldn't fight the guards as that would trigger an alarm. She thought about bluffing her way through but a request for entrance would be sent in to the government before she could be let in. The second way was to retreat and go around, but that obviously wouldn't work as she was enclosed by Mantle's walls. Finally, she could go over or under. The easiest way to access the sewers would be to crawl though a storm drain or find a sewer access point. However, because guards would also be stationed underground, they would need to be killed. So Cynthia needed to plant the explosives on the day, otherwise when the shift change occurred, missing men will lead to investigations.

So why was she in Mantle so early? Revach was sure that either Judith or Ironwood was keeping an eye on him. This meant that they could easily catch wind of his attempted counter-coup and begin their coup d'état earlier than scheduled. Cynthia had been sent ahead inform her father about the Dust power generators, to detonate the explosives as soon as the coup began, and also to notify Revach if the coup began early. Since the travel time from Liquid to Mantle was only four hours, Revach would easily make it in time if the city guards retaliated against Ironwood's troops.

Cynthia finally found an access point to the sewers and jumped down from the roof. However, shadows appeared on the end of the road. Ducking into the nearest alley, Cynthia pressed up against a wall which the light didn't reach and listened as the voices came closer.

'Have you heard? We get Monday off.'

'Where'd ya hear that from?'

'I walked in to the boss talking to Williams. You know, the Treasurer. He was asking why the council was giving us a free day on Monday, and while they were talking, the boss man said he hadn't seen Black in a couple of days.'

'Good thing too. I've been working overtime for the last couple o' days because one o' the guys in my squad got himself food poisoning. He ate some raw chicken for a bet.'

'How's the council gonna maintain security though? I mean, we need people manning the walls, right?'

'That's not my problem. I don't even have to throw a sickie.'

'…Throw a sickie?'

'It's what we say in Vacuo. Like, pretend to be sick so you can have a day off.'

The voices trailed away as the two city guardsmen rounded another corner. This was bad. If there was no resistance to the coup, it could be easily completed and then Ironwood's army could turn around to face the Grimm. She was about to use her Scroll to call Revach when she remembered that all Scroll messages sent from Mantle sent through Mantle City's tower, and could be read by anyone monitoring the network.

Unable to think of a way to inform Revach, Cynthia emerged from her hiding place and looked again once more. Nothing moved. She walked towards the middle of the road, raising her estoc as she did so.

'One, two three…'

Cynthia counted out her steps as she walked. Then, a glyph appeared, lifting up a heavy metal plate from underneath the snow which covered a ladder descending into the sewer system. Cynthia sheathed her blade and began to climb down the ladder, and the glyph slowly lowered the cover back on the ladder.

The smell that hit her was intense. She couldn't cover her mouth or nose until she reached the bottom, which was around five metres beneath her. Cynthia gave up on climbing down and stepped off the ladder. She hit the ground with a crouch to dissipate the energy from the fall and winced as some of her aura was lost. Covering her nose, she pulled out her estoc and conjured a glyph for light.

The sewer was around six metres in width and high enough to comfortably walk in. There was a path on each side above the main channel of sewerage which could be walked on, probably for engineers inspecting the stability of the sewer system. That was one thing Cynthia hadn't considered when she planned to leave her two bags of explosives in the sewers as she waited. She sighed. She would need to find a place to hide the explosives, and the only place was probably in the sewerage. They wouldn't be washed away nor would the humidity damage the explosives as they were Dust based. Fearing the day when the coup began, Cynthia carefully dropped her two bags into the slowly flowing sewerage, slightly grateful that because of her Semblance, she wouldn't need to go into the sewerage to find it again.

* * *

'Friends of the Military State of Mantle! Today, we are here to stop the corruption and the oppression from our Chairman, James Black. He is a man without honour. A man without ideals. He is a man who wants power only for himself.

We fight for freedom! We fight for… justice! We are here to fight for the right to expression! Black passed a law, the ban on expressionism, not for your safety but to create a society he can rule! He wants power. By limiting your knowledge and reducing the amount of creative material, he wants to control your thoughts. Black wants to create an uneducated society who cannot think for themselves. A society which listens. A society in which he is the dictator.

And so, we have come! We are here give back what is yours! You will have your art! Your films! Your literature! And we will build a free Mantle for tomorrow, and the next generations to come!'

Judith walked over to her chair and slumped in it. She had been rehearsing the same opening part of the speech for over two hours. Even though she was fighting for the freedom of expression, Judith saw propaganda and falsifying information as a part of war. If Ironwood led this coup alone, he would lose, because he had honour. Being truthful with the public was about the same as shooting your own foot before the coup began. So while Ironwood was preparing the military, Judith prepared speeches and recordings, bribed radio stations and hired Mantle gang informants to spread rumours about Black. All of this was done in the two days time after Black had left on his fateful trip the Northern Anima colony.

It was Thursday evening when she shut herself in to rehearse. She glanced at her scroll and it read 00:06. Ha… it was already Friday morning. She was about to leave her office to get some sleep until there was a knock at her door.

'Enter'

A rotund, balding man waddled into the room. His multicoloured tie was eye-catching over his dull black suit and white shirt. He was Judith's main source of intelligence within the Government due to his connections with the Mantle underworld. Because Mantle was a strict military state, bribing disciplined officials was difficult so the gangs of Mantle often relied on the Fat Man (as he was known) for protection, and in exchange, they fed Judith money and a steady stream of information.

'Greetings, madam.'

His voice was high, and often fluttery like a teenage girl.

'Hello Baldwin. It's late, can it wait for tomorrow?'

'It's only a short, non-statistical report; I came to see you personally because of the importance.'

'Very well, continue.'

'Revach has heard of your plans, and he is gathering up members of the Liquid city guard to attempt a counter-coup. He has also called for Huntsmen. Furthermore, Black's personal guard is missing.'

Judith frowned.

'How many people do you think Revach can muster?'

'My initial report says roughly one hundred, but I would put the ceiling at two hundred.'

Two hundred men weren't as bad as it could be. Putting it into perspective, Ironwood had as standing army of 20,000 men. Of course, Ironwood couldn't call on more than a quarter of the army, as half of them (including Specialists) were sent to Northern Anima because of the amount of Grimm, while the other quarter was needed as a reactionary force against outside invasion. Unlikely as it may be, if another country took advantage of the coup and bombed Ironwood's army while it was together, the results would be devastating. Thus, the coup would be limited at 5,000 men which meant that the city guard of 800 in Mantle posed a threat. The addition of 200 from Liquid under Revach wasn't insignificant either. What worried Judith the most was the Huntsmen. Each one would be only slightly weaker than Schnee himself if the rumours were to be believed. However, they were probably for another purpose as Judith knew they wouldn't interfere with a country's politics.

'So what about Black's personal guard?'

'Well, that's a little more tricky. You see, Black is dead, yes? This means that someone else, another player, is controlling them. Although there are only 100 of them including officers, informants, logistics managers and others, even their non-combatants have had top-of-the-line military training. If they were used correctly, they could be devastating.'

'Very well. Hire some assassins from the Mantle City gangs. You told me there was a team of former Huntsmen, right? They'll do.'

She pulled out a bundled up wad of Mantle credits and gave it to Baldwin before dismissing him.

'That would be all. Thank-'

'This is unusual for you, Judith. You haven't asked me the most important question.'

'Hmm?'

'The Huntsmen. You didn't ask how many were coming nor who they were.'

'…I didn't see it as important. They're Grimm hunters. They won't take part in a country's politics. But please inform me, I prefer having the information.'

'There will be four Huntsmen coming. I only have one of their names, as Revach requested him personally. His name is Fang. He could pose a problem.'

'Why?'

'I think Revach brought him over to manipulate him to kill Schnee. After all, you've heard the rumours surrounding Schnee and the former Riverton Academy.'

* * *

Leon Ironwood had a hologram of Mantle City projected onto his table. There were holographic pins of different colours strewn throughout the streets, most of them at crossroads but several were on the outer wall of Mantle. His plan was simple: control the outer walls for a vantage point over the city, blockade key intersections and surround the Government building. The walls of surrounding the government building and the courtyards would have been hard to take, but the death of Black, absence of Revach and the city guards not being on duty should mean an easy victory without firing a shot. Despite the crazy women only giving him a week to gather troops and plan their deployment, Ironwood was confident of their success.

However, there was one thing nagging at him. Xander Schnee had constantly tried to pry into the deployment of his military, but Ironwood had refused him every time. He didn't trust Schnee in the slightest due to his past life of betrayal. Ironwood was worried that Schnee would use the opportunity presented by the coup to take down Judith for a free shot at becoming the Chairman of Mantle. Then, by promoting two loyalists to the Council, it would be easy for him to shut down Revach and Ironwood as he would hold the majority of seats.

What made it all worse was that Schnee was highly respected within the army. Ironwood knew if he fell, the army wouldn't mind being lead by a Schnee. So Ironwood began, in secret, to find a group of Specialists who could take down Schnee when the time came. They would also be Ironwood's ace in the hole in case the coup goes sideways.

Well, it couldn't be helped now what side Schnee chose. All Ironwood cared about was that his family was safe in Mistral.


	8. Assassins from the Underworld

The Great War of Remnant

Chapter 7: Assassins from the Underworld

Fang crouched on the branch of a tree near the town entrance and relaxed as the cool morning breeze rippled through his cape. He was right over the main road from Riverton to the coastal town, Edge; aptly named as it sat on the frontier of human civilisation on the Unknown Continent. The cobblestone walls supported a large set of double doors which gave the illusion of safety, but was in fact rather frail. However, Edge didn't need stellar defences like all the other "pioneer towns" due to Riverton Academy being located further inland, and all the Grimm that wandered near the Academy were used as training for budding Huntsmen and Huntresses.

In the distance, four figures had already descended from the Academy and were on the main road. The time was around quarter to six so it was still dark, but as Fang was a Faunus, he could easily see General Branwen followed by Rackon and two girls he didn't recognise. As they approached, he got a better look at the girls. Being Huntresses, they were both slim and fit, but were both slightly younger than Rackon, perhaps in their second last year like Eri. The shorter of the two wore a light blue dress which matched her hair and two small daggers at her waist. As they walked, she constantly snuck glances at Rackon. The one time he caught her, she blushed and looked away. The taller one was a wolf-Faunus like Fang with dark red hair and a folded weapon on her back which seemed to be a rifle. Fang visibly deflated as he saw them. This would be another babysitting mission. The only saving grace was that at least Rackon was competent. Somewhere, he had a strand of hope that the girls would be as talented as Rackon or Eri, but he knew in the back of his mind he would have to watch out for them.

Branwen stopped right beneath Fang. There wasn't enough light to see him but Fang knew the General had detected his presence. Stepping forwards, he dropped down gracefully, surprising the two girls. The ripple of his cape must have startled Rackon. He turned around, drawing his bow in one smooth action and aimed it at Fang.

'Rackon, it's me!'

The boy let out his breath slowly and the arrow which materialised began to disintegrate; the canisters on the bow sucking the Dust back in. Branwen laughed heartily and turned to the two new Huntresses.

'Carmen. Apollo. Come over here. This is Professor Fey Cao. He'll be your instructor for this mission.'

'Call me Fang. And I'm not a professor yet; I'm still a Huntsman, General Branwen.'

'For the next couple of day's you'll be a professor, I'm afraid. Take good care of them.'

He motion for Fang to come to the side.

'One last thing before you go. I don't know what's going on in Mantle right now, but the political climate is really tense. The Mantle Council chairman, James Black, has gone missing. He was on a flight to Northern Anima but his airbus never arrived. No matter what, don't get used by Revach for his political scheme, you got it?'

'What if he's political scheme is "getting in Huntsmen to kill of the Grimm so he looks like a better public servant" sort of thing?'

'That, you'll have to do. We can't technically refuse it.'

'OK sir. By the way, you mentioned the political climate in Mantle being pretty bad. What if we get into a fight?'

'Hopefully, you won't. People will think twice before attacking a Huntsman. But if people come after you looking for a fight, crush them. No one messes with Riverton. And if they go after Revach, Williams, Ironwood or some other political figure, we have to protect them under our code as well. "A Huntsman is the protector of all Man. He shall protect what other's cannot; the mind, the body and the spirit. He shall ensure the safety of all." Even if they're a politician. There will be no deaths in the presence of Huntsman.'

'Very philosophical of you, General Branwen.'

'We took the oath. We have to uphold it. As long as Revach doesn't go against our code nor our ethics, we must aid him.'

'Yessir. What about those two new girls? How much attention do I need to give them?'

'Those two both made the quarter-finals for our monthly fighting contest. Carmen, the one in the blue dress, got swept by Erisar but Apollo nearly beat a third-year. They're both second years by the way, both 16.'

'Alright. I should get going, General.'

'See ya.'

The General started walking back to the Academy, waving at Rackon the girls as he did so. Fang beckoned at the Rackon and the two students, and proceeded towards the airbus station. Rackon smiled as he walked.

'It's good to out and about again. The General was sooooo boring.'

'Hahaha… He was much brighter when he was younger. And a lot more inappropriate. I remember his first class. "And my name is… Professor Arthur Branwen! All you cute ladies can call me Arty by the way." And then one of my friends decided to impress a girl in the class by taking Branwen's first combat demonstration. I don't think I need to say he almost got killed. Branwen let a Beringel loose in our first class. Ah, the look on my friend's face. He tried his best but still… and then Branwen chipped in "If that's the best ya got, you can call me Arty as well" as he sliced the Beringel clean in two with his scythe. I miss those days.'

Fang turned to the girls.

'Carmen, right? Tell me a bit about yourself.'

The petite girl stiffened up. She was obviously nervous about chatting to a professor.

'Um… I'm Carmen…'

Fang chuckled.

'What are your weapons called?'

'Twin Flash.'

'That's a good name. What does it do?'

'Well, you can shoot the blade out. It's connected with some really tough iron string so you could shoot it on a wall and climb using the rope.'

'That's really cool. What about your Semblance?'

'It's… well it's like a protective charm. Whenever I'm in trouble, I get a sort of a mental nudge at what I should do. It's really handy in fights. I also get a nudge whenever I'm about to get surprised by something bad. I didn't feel it when you came down, though.'

'It's probably because I'm not some huge Grimm getting ready for a meal. What about you, Apollo? What's-'

'My weapon is a rifle which turns into an axe when I get close. My Semblance let's me create illusions. I can either create something small that's detailed or something big that's not so detailed. For example, I can manifest a person I know really well, and they would be able to speak and act as if they were normal. Or, I can create a really large, flat wall. Or the feeling of heat or cold in a large area. But the bigger I go, the less detail the illusion has. And the illusions aren't solid.'

Apollo spoke with indifference, even a coldness that wasn't typical in children. It was the same type of cynical attitude as Eri, who had witnessed and been traumatised by the slaughter of Old Riverton by Schnee. No doubt her angst was caused by the fact that she was a Faunus. Fang empathised with her; after all, he had gone through the same thing in his life. But empathy didn't solve the problem. And it was naïve to think that the Faunus would ever receive full rights in his generation. But Fang still tried the best he could in changing people's views about the Faunus wherever his travels sent him.

* * *

'You ready to start, Erisar?'

Katrina Branwen stood in front of Erisar. Normally, the Colosseum would be filled with partners sparring with each other at midday, but today was slightly different. It was time for Erisar to face his final test, and the spectator seats of were packed. Erisar wanted to get some final advice from Fang, but realised he had left just this morning. It was midday now. The sun shone in, basking the arena with the warmth of early spring. This was it. Erisar had been training for his test for the entire week ever since he found out he needed to earn a passing mark against Katrina. The daughter of the General was tall and slim like a wooden reed, wearing tights which went down to her knees and a shirt which didn't fully cover her slender waist. Erisar was frightened by the amount of scarring he saw on her. Normally, the dress she wore in her lessons left only her arms and face showing. She had scars across her abdomen, one spiralling down her right leg and another which ran from her left cheekbone into her raven hair. In her hands was a scythe twice the height of her. The nimbleness in the way she handled it told Erisar he couldn't beat her by speed. He would have to either find a pattern in her movements, predict her next few moves to counter them or to surprise her with his Semblance. Few people knew of Erisar's Semblance. Fang and the General were the only two people to have ever seen the entire thing. Thus, it would be an excellent weapon to catch Katrina off-guard. But at the same time, Erisar didn't know Katrina's. He rubbed his iridium hardened gloves together and looked into her eyes.

'I'll be sure to give you a good fight, Katrina. I'm sure the audience wants to see you lose for once.'

'Ha, good luck with that.'

Both of them dropped into a ready stance. Erisar kept his hands in front of him and turned side-on. Katrina held her scythe behind her. The crowd went silent from the tension. A few seconds passed with the two of them eying each other. Then a half a minute. And then a minute. Katrina's face twitched. Erisar took this opportunity to run at her. His cape swept in from the left hand side as he did. Katrina tried to close the distance after parrying his initial attack so Erisar would be in the range of her scythe, but Erisar didn't allow that. He jumped backwards and swung the cape over his back. It slammed down at her as she parried once more. Then, it moved up once more before smashing down like a jackhammer. Katrina stopped her advance and pointed the end of the scythe at Erisar. Knowing she was about to use the sniper rifle in her scythe, Erisar pulled the cape back to cover his body.

The blast echoed throughout the stadium. It pinged off Erisar's cape and shot off into the sky. Erisar stepped forward and lashed his cape out once more. His plan was simple. He would need to keep Katrina within the striking range of his cape but not allow her to swing her scythe at him. However, Katrina saw straight through this.

Suddenly, she backed off as fast as she could. Needing to stay within striking range so she wouldn't get free attacks with her sniper rifle, Erisar chased her. Katrina timed her stop while Erisar was mid-step. Erisar blanched. He made a huge mistake. Because he wasn't touching the ground, he didn't have a surface to push on and change direction. Katrina stepped in, swinging her scythe in an elegant, circular motion. But the attack had too much backswing. Erisar leaned forwards past the blade and used his cape to block the brunt of Katrina's attack. Then, he swung his body around and kicked Katrina twice, once on the side of her right knee, forcing her down, and the next went directly to the temple. It was looking favourable for Erisar as he traded a blunt blow to his ribs for a disabling attack to the leg and a blow to the head. However, before the kick could connect, Katrina vanished.

Erisar felt his aura drop as a blow from behind him knocked him flying. He must have flown almost fifteen metres, skidding across the dusty Colosseum floor. It took a crucial moment for Erisar to comprehend what had happened. Katrina used her Semblance. She must have teleported behind him and hit him with the hilt of her scythe. As he looked up, Katrina appeared in a flash of silver light, her scythe drawn back in a full swing intended to finish him. But this time, she had truly left herself open. Erisar dug deep inside of himself, focusing on the darkness in the corner of his mind. Pushing at the shadows, Erisar gritted his teeth and forced them out of his left hand.

Jets of darkness shot from Erisar's fingers. The first one struck Katrina in the arm as she twisted to avoid it. The second and third ones hit her abdomen. Then, she vanished once more. Erisar got to his feet and looked up at the scoreboard which tracked their aura's through a bracelet on the contestant's arm. Despite only suffering one direct hit, Erisar's aura was already down to roughly halfway. Katrina still had hers at around three quarters. Erisar had heard of this from Fang: Katrina had one of the strongest auras in her generation, but he didn't think it would be this strong. Erisar was quite powerful; he managed to take down the Beringels, some of the toughest Grimm, with a couple of well-placed strikes to the back of the neck. And he had hit Katrina four times. Shaking off his disbelief, Erisar began to concentrate once more.

He released a volley of shadow spikes from his hands. They chased after Katrina but never landed as she continued to teleport around the arena. Erisar began to notice a pattern in her teleportations. She tended to zigzag behind the tip of the spikes, juking out of his shadows. Her Semblance also seemed to have a maximum range of around six metres. Smiling to himself, Erisar ran at Katrina. If she saw him coming, she didn't react to it. When he was in the six-metre range, Erisar suddenly twisted around and swept his cape behind himself.

Katrina, however, had predicted this. She knew that Erisar would be smart enough to see the pattern in her movements. As Erisar approached, she double bluffed him. He probably thought that once he closed the distance, she would teleport behind him to deliver an attack. Instead of teleporting behind him, Katrina teleported in front, swinging her scythe down at his shoulder. But the scythe didn't connect. A now panicking Erisar swirled ribbons of shadows around himself, blocking the scythe while a spear of shadows pushed out straight at her. Katrina gritted her teeth as she took the spear head on, bringing her scythe back once more. Putting everything she had in the one swing, she cut through the shadow ribbons, cleaving at Erisar's chest. However, it also broke through his remaining aura. Blood spurted out as the scythe made contact, and Erisar collapsed, his shadows imploding in a puff of smoke.

* * *

The group made their way to Mantle without any problems. They headed down to Vale and changed to an express line which went straight to Mantle whilst passing over Mistral to restock for fuel. Apollo had warmed up during the trip, occasionally chatting with the rest of the team during meals. From the first day it was obvious that Carmen had a crush on Rackon, but the boy was either oblivious or just too dense. He continued to act the gentleman around the two girls, such as keeping the door open or pouring drinks but would look extremely confused every time Carmen blushed. By the time they arrived at Liquid, Fang had seen enough teenage drama. It was Sunday morning. Unlike Mantle City, Liquid wasn't wealthy or important enough for the state-of-the-art Mantle technology, and the roofs didn't have heating cables and the snow covered the rooftops like icing on a cake. As the group stepped out of the airbus, a blast of cold air sent the fur on his ears standing on end. People gave them sideways looks as the group walked past. Huntsmen didn't usually work in Mantle due to the difficulty in transport (there were no public lines from the Unknown Continent to Mantle and airships from Vale always went through Mistral because of the need to refuel) and also because Schnee's specialists were the ones the people relied on for protection against the Grimm.

The group walked towards the government building where Revach said he would be waiting. However, they needed to go past the town centre on the way, and the place was packed. Rackon surreptitiously climbed a building to try and find a better way, but seemed crestfallen as he came down.

'I don't think there's another way. The entrance to the government building's courtyard is in the town centre, and some guy is giving a speech right in front.'

Fang looked uncomfortable.

'Giving a speech? What did he look like?'

'Well, he was pretty good looking, but like… in a rugged sort of way. He's got brown or black hair, I couldn't really tell from the distance. He also seems pretty tall, and he's wearing a white suit.'

'Did he have a red pocket square?'

Rackon raised his eyebrows.

'How did you know?'

'That's Revach. C'mon guys, we need to get closer. Rackon, get back on the roof.'

'Why?'

Fang looked around to make sure the girls were listening as well.

'Pay attention guys. Revach could be manipulating us to do some political dirty work, and might not be too happy for us to leave. I usually trust him, though; I think he's pretty straightforward but he might not understand our code that well. Follow me on the voice comms. If he tries anything funny, we leg it and hide. Rackon, cover us when we go. On the way here we passed an inn. If we split, meet up there in forty-five if something goes wrong. If we don't meet up, I'll give you further instructions on comms. Rackon, go up. Carmen, Apollo, you two come with me. Let's go.'

Rackon easily hopped up to the second storey of a building on the edge of the town square while Fang, Carmen and Apollo began trying to press through the crowd. People were jostling back and forth at the edges, but it got easier as they approached the podium set up in front of the government building. Fang could see Revach as they approached, gesticulating as he spoke to the crowd. As he spoke, he became more and more enthusiastic, whipping the crowd's emotions up to the peak. Then, a masked figure with greying hair sprang out of the crowd. A shotgun appeared in his hands as he leapt over the crowd and to the base of the hastily assembled stage. As the figure swung the shotgun around, Fang saw an axe head being deployed from the stock of the gun. It sank into the neck of a city guard standing watch. Then, an arrow whizzed over Fang's head. Almost by instinct, the figure jerked its head back. The arrow flew past and struck the floor of the stage, which began to disintegrate due to the red Dust. As the figure levelled the shotgun at Revach, Fang deployed his Gauntlet Blade and leapt in front of him. Revach could do nothing but in surprise, his eyes wide and his legs stiff from too much adrenaline. The man fired. Even with Fang's extensive training, he couldn't block a shotgun blast. Slicing through the air, he parried some of the bullets but was knocked off his feet as the rest connected with his aura.

The crowd was screaming. Carmen and Apollo deployed their weapons and jumped between Revach and the assassin. Fang, who had been knocked backwards, got to his feet only to see another masked figure emerge from the crowd, armed holding a long, curved katana with a pistol on the handle. The custom weapons that the figures were using obviously belonged to Huntsmen or Specialists, and the way they walked reinforced that: even, careful steps as they tried to get within striking range. As Carmen and Apollo confronted the older assassin, Fang faced the younger one with a feral smile on his face. If they were Specialists working for Schnee, he would show them no mercy, and after he'd beaten them, he was going to hang them by their ankles and bleed them dry.

* * *

 **If you're reading this again, I'm so sorry for the lack of horizontal line spacers. I forgot to do it when I uploaded :(((**


	9. Know No Fear

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 8: Know No Fear

The crowd began to scream, scattering out of the main square. The square was large enough for Fang and the others to fight, and without civilians in the way, he could go all-out without worrying about catching innocents with stray bullets. The figure in front of him wore a monochrome copper mask with the features as expressionless as a statue. His katana was the same length as Fang's Gauntlet Blade so their striking range was roughly equal. However, the pistol attached to the guard meant that he could chip away at Fang's aura when he got the chance. The man pointed his katana at Fang and fired two shots in quick succession. Fang dodged to the right and the bullets buried into the wall behind him, cracking the fine engravings on them. Fang rushed forwards, delivering a forceful slash at the man's arms. The assassin parried it, twirling his katana from his left to his right hand and stepped back. As he did, he fired another blast which was parried by Fang and ricocheted into the floor. Fang stepped forwards, shutting out the assassin's blade to prevent a counterattack and stabbed at his right thigh. The assassin jumped up above the attack and kicked at Fang's head. While he was midair, a yellow bolt of energy struck the assassin in the back. There was a loud crackling sound and the man was blasted through one of the busts which lined one side of the square. The stone bust under him shattered. Fang picked up the rolling head with mustachios and an elegant pince-nez, throwing it like a baseball pitcher. It hit the assassin square in the face as he went to stand back up, snapping his neck back at an awkward angle and knocking the mask off of his face. He had dark brown hair and eyes, very pale skin and a birthmark under his left eye shaped like a large, brown teardrop.

Fang pressed his attack. If all the Specialists were as weak as Teardrop, he was confident that even the good junior students at Riverton would easily take them down one on one. He looked around at Apollo and Carmen who were facing the older assassin. It was obvious the old man had much more experience, and his movements were faster and stronger than either of the Huntresses. He easily swatted Carmen's parry aside and would have heavily injured her with his next attack if Apollo hadn't intercepted it just as it was about to land. The Faunus girl gritted her teeth as she pushed back against the older assassin. They both used axes, but Apollo had a longer, double bladed axe while the assassin used a single edged woodcutter's axe which also served as the stock on his shotgun. Fang knew they needed help soon, but he needed to finish Teardrop first. He hesitated, and then cursed. He should have pressed the advantage Rackon had given with the well-timed snipe. Teardrop had already gotten back on his feet and was in a guard position. Then, he heard footsteps crunching in the snow behind him. He was about to slash at the newcomer when he realised it was Rackon.

'Oi, Rackon, deal with this one. He's not that strong but don't let your guard down.'

'Got it.'

As he said this, there was a scream. Apollo lay on the ground. Her aura had been depleted and there was a deep wound on her thigh and another on her shoulder. Carmen was standing in between Apollo and the assassin, her hands shaking. Fang rushed at the older assassin. Rackon had never seen Fang move so fast; even with his trained dynamic vision, he couldn't keep up with Fang's movements. He covered the thirty metre gap with only two steps and lunged forwards in a single, stabbing motion. Rackon had seen this before from none other than Erisar. Before Erisar began using a cape and chainmail gloves, his weapon was an espada ropera, or a wardrobe rapier, which was one of the weapons the Academy offered before the students forged or commissioned their own weapon. The attack Fang used was called a fleche, and it was an incredibly committed attack; there was no way Fang could back out of it even if the older assassin looked like he could parry and counterattack.

The older assassin just managed to get his axe up in time. However, Fang's movement catapulted him straight into the older assassin. As they collided, Fang pulled one of his knees up and smashed the older assassin in the chest. They both flew out uncontrollably, tumbling across the snowy floor and scraping a fresh layer of snow off the ground. But Rackon couldn't pay attention of Fang anymore. He turned to Teardrop and collapsed his bow. There was a soft _schink_ as the bowstring was released from the bottom side and reeled into the bow. Then, the bow changed into a quarterstaff, the joints on the arms straightening out and extending until the weapon was slightly taller than Rackon. The dust canisters rotated until they faced up. Taking a defensive stance, Rackon faced his opponent. He closed his eyes and concentrated, extending his consciousness outwards. His Semblance, Second Sight, could detect the souls of other people. He saw the soul as a humanoid-shaped light; bright at the centre and darker at the exteriors. Because both the aura and the Semblance are linked to the soul, he could identify people by the difference in the shape of their Semblance (which looked like a swirling pattern of lights) and the amount of aura they had left was shown by how bright the outline of their body was. Teardrop had around half his aura remaining. He saw the outline of Teardrop dash closer. People who didn't know Rackon's Semblance always tried to do this; they assume that Rackon is trying to channel his Semblance and want to prevent it by disrupting his concentration with a pre-emptive strike.

Rackon opened his eyes. Pushing the staff forwards, he thrust it like a spear beneath Teardrop's jaw. The assassin raised it his katana just in time to parry it before attempting a crude riposte. Spinning his staff around, Rackon unleashed a spray of yellow Dust from his canister. Teardrop, unable to stop the momentum from his swing, stepped straight into the yellow cloud. It crackled, sending jolts of lightning down his legs and he knelt involuntarily, a scream coming from his lips. Spinning his staff around once more, Rackon delivered three consecutive blows to the abdomen and then a roundhouse kick to the head. Teardrop collapsed. Rackon took a few steps back and closed his eyes again. Sure enough, there wasn't any aura left around Teardrop's soul, as the outline was completely gone. A mass of swirling lights lay on the ground, vulnerable in Rackon's eyes without the layer of aura which surrounded the body. Looking around, Rackon gazed at Fang and the two girls on the ground. The light of the person lying on the ground, Apollo, was falling dimmer. Rackon opened his eyes and rushed closer. Carmen was crying as she tried to stem the blood which flowed from Apollo's leg, her movements panicked and uncertain. Rackon threw his staff aside and pulled a canister, a large piece of cotton and a brown bottle from his pack. As he knelt down, Carmen looked at him with pleading eyes, but spoke as calm as she could.

'Please help. I can't stop the bleeding… I don't know why. I put a cloth there and I'm trying to keep pressure on… Why? Why is there so much blood!?'

Rackon tried to reply without sounding reprimanding or clichéd.

'Keep calm. Most of the bleeding's stopped from the front of the thigh. However, she's still bleeding on the inside of her leg. Hopefully it's not a cut femoral artery. After I'm done spraying the medical foam, tie up the wounds with some fresh cloth and take her somewhere warm. I don't want her getting frostbite on her wounds.'

As he spoke, he tore the cut leggings away and dabbed some iodine in the wound. After, he sprayed the canister on her leg. It was military grade coagulant which Rackon had bought the last time he visited Mantle. Mantle had always been known for their military technology, and thus their field equipment was just as good. The coagulant went to work almost immediately, the foam expanding to fill the wound and to stop the bleeding. The blood instantly became thicker and more viscous around the wound. He inspected the wound on the shoulder. It was shallow, but he couldn't risk not using the coagulant after he checked once more on her soul. Dabbing the iodine once more, he raised the canister and sprayed a short squirt. The foam expanded, filling the wound and stopping the bleeding. Carmen then took bandages out of her pack, wrapped them around the wounds and secured them with medical clips. As she did this, Rackon checked Apollo for spinal injuries before telling Carmen to carry her to the inn. He picked up his staff and looked over at Fang, about to join the fight. However, when Carmen tried to lift Apollo, she collapsed onto the ground.

'I don't think I can…'

'…'

The din of the fighting had continued throughout Rackon's treatment of Apollo. Rackon glanced at Fang. The two men were fighting evenly, trading blows until both of them had depleted each other's aura. Now, they both adopted a defensive stance to try and land the first physical wound. As much as Rackon wanted to join the fight, Apollo was in danger. He could feel the cold beginning to pierce through his gloves and his socks, and he knew that Apollo might not last very long. Deciding to trust in Fang, Rackon ran over to Apollo and picked her up. Carmen spoke up.

'I'll help Fang.'

'No, you'll just get in his way. Help me protect Apollo while we go to the inn.'

Fear and disappointment crossed Carmen's face. Rackon, however, was too tense to notice. He began to run towards the inn they had passed earlier, carrying Apollo in a fireman's lift. Apollo's soul was the same dim shade it had been since Rackon applied the medical foam. The group reached the inn without much problem and stepped inside. The people at the door instantly parted. Rackon was surprised at the incredibly calm manner everyone handled the situation. They instantly brought three tables together to put Apollo on and most of them kept their distance as a doctor was called to attend to her.

'Stay here Carmen. I'm going back. I'll message you on your Scroll once I get back to Fang.'

Rackon switched his staff back into a bow and sprinted in the direction he had come.

* * *

The sound of steel on steel reverberated through the town square. Fang was driven to his limits by the older assassin. Although Fang was at the start of his thirties, the old man was able to match his movements by eliminating unnecessary actions. His attacks were clean and efficient which spoke volumes about his experience. The flashy attacks and tricks of the younger Huntsmen and Huntresses couldn't match the simple slashes and parries of the assassin which weighed with intent. Fang had noticed this about Rackon. His blows all struck to kill. However, the older assassin fought like Erisar. He pretended to leave openings in his attacks and the intention behind each attack was different. Some were probing attacks as the old man tried to figure out what parries Fang used and how he dodged. Other attacks seemed to leave the older man with openings, but when Fang attempted to capitalise on them, the old man would leap out of the way and retaliate with another blow, trying to chip away at Fang's aura. However, Fang had a few advantages of his own. He was stronger than the old man, so instead of trying to block all of the attacks, he would trade blows instead. When the old man stepped in for a light attack, Fang allowed it to land and delivered a heavier attack of his own.

Then, they both stopped attacking. Fang knew that both their aura's had been depleted, and any more attacks landing would result in physical damage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rackon telling Carmen something. She tried to pick up Apollo, but couldn't. Then, Rackon slung his staff over his pack, ran back to the two girls and picked up the injured Huntress before leaving the square. The older assassin used Fang's diverted attention as an opportunity to attack. However, Fang intercepted the downwards slash before it gained momentum and closed in with his shoulder. The older assassin then did something Fang had only seen once before. Leaning to the side, he spun around to Fang's left side and used the momentum to shove him in the back. Fang stumbled, almost falling. The older man took the chance to aim and fire his shotgun.

Knowing how the technique continued, Fang dove to the side. One of the pellets scraped past his right foot, cutting open his boot and the side of his ankle. He snarled as he rolled out of the dive and stood up. Although it hurt, he could still put weight on the ankle. He looked at the assassin.

'Schnee taught you that.'

'Indeed.'

Fang closed the distance with two steps. He slashed again and again, flowing from one attack to the other. Suddenly, he feinted at the legs and slashed at the old man's hand on the weapon. Surprise went through the old man's eyes behind the mask. He angled the weapon to try and avoid it, but Fang cut straight through his little finger. Stumbling backwards, the old man hissed slightly and backed into the wall of a building in the square. Then, Fang stabbed twice, forcing the old man to parry and then tried to sweep the old man off his feet. The old assassin did a back flip, kicking off against the wall. Landing behind Fang, he swung his axe with all his might. Fang stepped back. Now Fang was the one trapped against the wall.

As the old man stepped in, Fang predicted the attack, intercepting it while the old man prepared the backswing. Closing the distance, Fang slid under the old man's attempt to grab at him. He stood up behind the assassin. However, he was too close to use his Gauntlet blade. Instead, he lifted his arm up and behind the assassin's head, putting the old man into half a headlock. The old man had twisted to the left in an attempt to avoid it. He stepped on Fang's injured foot, causing him to stumble. Undoing the headlock in one smooth motion, he spun around and chopped at Fang's head.

Fang was ready for it. He did a back flip, kicking the old man in the hand as he did so. The weapon flew out of his grip. As Fang landed, he crouched and like a shot out like a compressed spring being released. His fleche attack struck the old man in the abdomen and easily exited through the other side. They both stood there for half a second. But the old man didn't collapse. Instead, he roared, bringing both hands down on the weapon. The Gauntlet Blade snapped and Fang was thrown onto his knees. He felt a hand tighten around his throat and he was lifted off his feet.

The old man looked at him. Fang looked down, and could see the broken Gauntlet blade sticking out of the old man's belly. There was no way he should be moving after a wound like that. But there was no time for amazement as Fang was being slowly choked out by the old man. He tried to use the jagged end of the broken Gauntlet Blade to slash at the old man's arm, but it was stopped by the old man's other hand. The old man's grip was like an iron clamp slowly being tightened around Fang's neck.

Fang tried to concentrate. However, he began to feel dizzy as oxygen no longer entered his brain. He tried to reach for his Semblance but it continued to slip through his fingers like trying to catch a ball of water. He was going to die here. He resigned himself. Then, the old man spoke, his voice deep and guttural.

'Who taught you to fight like this?'

Fang struggled in midair for a second.

'Ozpin. The man Schnee killed.'

The old man had made a fatal mistake. By allowing Fang to speak, he had to release his grip somewhat. Fang closed his eyes and concentrated. He increased the heat around his neck by vibrating the particles around it. There was a burning sensation around his neck as the old man's hand was suddenly heated up almost three hundred degrees and his glove caught fire. Fang's vision was blurred, either from the mental strain of using his Semblance or the lack of oxygen, but felt the old man let go. He tried to get to his feet, but stumbled around before falling on his knees. There was a smell of charred meat rising from his neck. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the old man approach once more. This was it. Fang had nothing left. The old man cradled his damaged hand in his other one. As he stepped closer, Fang dropped his head and closed his eyes. He could feel the pain from his neck increasing. Although the cold was dulling it somewhat, it felt as if pins were slowly being inserted beneath his fingernails. He wanted to roll around in pain, but knew that even if he did, it wouldn't go away. This was it… This was it. Fang felt a surge of regret which brought tears to his eyes. There was so much more he wanted to do…

There were crunching footsteps. They were erratic, as if the older assassin was stumbling. And then there was a thud.

After a few moments, Fang opened his eyes once more and looked around. The old assassin lay on the ground. Well, he wasn't really lying on the ground. His head, forearms and his legs were on the ground. In between was a heap of black ash. Even as Fang watched, the arms and the head were slowly being burnt away. Looking around once more, he saw Rackon running over as fast as he could.

'…You all right? I took care of Apollo… ugh, your neck is kinda messed up but it doesn't look dangerous.'

Fang wiped the tears away from his eyes.

'Nah, I'm fine. I got choked out a bit so I had to use my Semblance to burn him. But I sorta burned myself as well. Alright, let's go talk to Revach about this little… political complication.'


	10. The Ruy-Lopez

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 9: The Ruy-Lopez

Revach twirled his white bishop in his hand as he viewed the procession of men wearing white Mantle Army uniforms parade down the main road which lead to the government complex. The monitor had been planted by Cynthia, and it covered the entire length of the road, all the way to the southern wall. The government complex was literally a fortress inside of Mantle city. If the outer walls of Mantle were ever breached, it could house the entire population. Within the complex were four courtyards arranged in a square, and in the centre of all of them all was the government building. It was designed this way so if the walls of the complex ever were to fall, enemy troops could be mowed down on the fields due to the lack of cover.

Ironwood was at the front, a kreigsmesser at his belt and a pistol in his left hand. The kreigsmesser was like a scimitar, but had a less defined curve and a nail on the side of the guard for rotating parries. As he marched his army down Mantle's main road and towards the front gate, Williams could be heard around the city. Loudspeakers had been set up on each of the light posts around Mantle as if they were propaganda towers. The same message of telling the citizens to "remain safely within their homes" and the "corruption and oppression of Chairman Black" was being repeated over and over.

Suddenly, there was a loud rumbling. The earth began to shake. Ironwood stumbled as he tried to right himself. He spun around, looking for the source. There were no earthquakes in Mantle, and the city was situated on land rather than ice. Even through the grainy images, Revach could see shock on Ironwood's face. Then, there was a ringing from his side monitor. When Black picked up the call, the camera only showed darkness.

'Hello, who is it?'

'Cynthia here. The explosives went off as planned. Father agreed with using the Grimm to pin down Ironwood, so the generators have been maxed out as well. We've already attracted quite the number, but nothing more than beowolves, boars and some ursa so far.'

'Good job… No, great job. Excellent. I couldn't have asked for more, snow angel.'

'…Thank you'

'I'll have to be moving out as well then. Hahaha… this is just like a game of chess. Unfortunately, it isn't as fair. It looks like I'll be cheating a little…'

As he said this, he turned back to his original monitor. Ironwood was ordering a portion of the army to turn around and face the incoming threat. As they turned to face the unexpected source of trouble, he saw a torrent of yellow beams hail down from the wall of the complex. They tore into the front of Ironwood's army. Panicking and scattering for cover, the soldiers of Ironwood's army utterly abandoned their formation.

'Ah, it seems your father is in command of the government complex right now. How many men does he have?'

'It's not my father. It's Black.'

Revach took a second to process this. A small trickle of saliva dripped out of his opened mouth. In that time, Cynthia lit a lamp and her face appeared.

'Wait… WHAT!?'

'Black's still alive, Revach.'

'How? How is that possible? Unless… No… The only way…' Revach's voice trailed away. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought, and abruptly snapped back to reality. He smashed his fist into the table, and whiskey in his cup sloshed around, almost spilling. 'I thought he was dead. My sources confirmed that the ship he was on exploded on the way to Northern Anima.'

'Anyway, Black's in command of his household platoons which have holed up inside the complex. Looks like he's holding his last stand there.'

Revach growled. He had believed Black was dead, and that he might have been able to seize that chance and become the next Chairman. There was a knock on the door. Before Revach could respond, it was flung open, bouncing off the wall. Fang's fury made him look ten times larger than he was. The burn marks on his neck had already almost recovered from the Sunday afternoon skirmish with the assassins and his skin had regained his original colour. He spoke, his voice full of anger.

'I'd know that voice from anywhere, Schnee.'

Cynthia looked at him coldly from the monitor.

'I would as well, Fey Cao. You're the favourite student of Branwen. Why don't you come on over to Mantle City, I'll wait for you. And I'll gut-'

Revach turned to the side monitor and pressed the mute button.

'What do you need, Fang?'

It took a moment for Fang to compose himself. Then he spoke, his voice cracking slightly due to the injuries. 'You said we're facing down a Grimm horde. I don't see a horde.'

'That's why we'll be leaving shortly. The horde is bearing down on Mantle as we speak.'

'Then why don't we leave now?' Revach could tell Fang was angrier than he had ever seen him before. However, he was internalising it. Fang obviously knew he was being manipulated, but his friendship… no, his _honour_ prevented him from leaving. And Revach respected, even admired him for it. 'Why don't we go before Ironwood's army is decimated?'

'Ah… So you found out.'

'That I'm being manipulated? Yeah. It wasn't hard. And you'd better remember that we jumped in to save your life, Revach. Apollo nearly died as well.'

'I'm truly sorry for that girl. My only bodyguard, Cynthia, is in Mantle right now and doing something for me.'

Fang sighed. 'The more I know, the less I want to help. So let's do it like this. You don't tell us anything more. I'll clean up the Grimm. Point us over, and we'll go, as long as the enemy isn't human. Then, you pay us, and we leave.'

Revach picked up his glass of whiskey in short silence which followed Fang's words. He had wanted to "introduce" Fang to Xander in the hopes that he would kill him, but there was no point anymore since Black was alive. He originally presumed Black was dead, and after the counter-coup, the only opposition was Schnee. The reason Fang was here wasn't only to clean up the Grimm, but also to kill Schnee so he would be able to take power solely for himself.

'Sure. You've got a deal.'

'Alright Revach. Tell us when the airships leave.'

With that, Fang left, closing the door behind him. Revach pressed the un-mute button on the monitor.

'There's one last thing I want you to do.'

'Yes?'

'Stay safe.'

'…'

Revach smiled and shut the call. He then messaged Harrison on his scroll. It read: 'Get the men ready. It's time to move out.'

* * *

A swarming black mass entered from the eastern side of Mantle. Heading straight for the main road, the horde of Grimm descended upon Ironwood's soldiers. With his kreigsmesser in one hand and a pistol in the other, Leon Ironwood faced the Grimm as they approached. They were still out of range of the rifles.

'Steady… Steady… Fire!'

The bullets met the oncoming wall of Grimm as they approached. The first line stumbled and fell, but before his men had even emptied their magazines, it was already a swirling melee. The Grimm crashed through the barricades, impaling themselves on the row of sharp spears and getting tangled in the row of barbed wire. But it wasn't enough. Ironwood raised his pistol and fired into the head of a beowolf which surmounted the barricade. The modified rounds smashed into the eye of the Grimm, blasting through its brains if it had one. Then, the round exploded. The head of the Grimm disintegrated and its body dissolved into a smoky puddle.

Raising his sword, Ironwood stepped to the side, jamming his blade into the centre of a rolling boarbatusk. It sprang open and landed with its legs splayed to the side. Kicking its head to the right, Ironwood slashed at its neck and took the head clean off. His swing carried his blade into the arm of a lunging beowolf. Seeing the opening, Ironwood unleashed a burst of rounds into the belly and blew it into a shadowy mess.

Ironwood could see his well-trained men beginning to fall one by one. He struck out with his blade once more and shouted, 'Do not falter! If we die here, Mantle will fall! We stand and fight so we may give our children a brighter tomorrow! For Mantle!'

His soldiers echoed 'For Mantle!' and threw themselves at the Grimm. One of them attached a bayonet onto his rifle, thrusting into the neck of an ursa and opened fire. His standard issue rounds barely penetrated the skin despite the barrel pressing into the ursa. The ursa tossed its neck, throwing the weapon away and the soldier fell. Ironwood rushed forwards and fired his pistol. The modified rounds exploded on the bone plating, shattering them and forcing the ursa back. Then, Ironwood felt an impact from his shoulder to his hip. Another ursa had snuck up behind him, tearing his back apart with its sharpened claws. Ironwood fell to one knee. Turning around, he parried the next swing and fired his last bullet at point blank range into its red eye.

The explosion threw Ironwood on his back. It felt as if a hot hand had picked up his limp body and discarded it like an unwanted toy. Ironwood pushed himself to his knees. A large chunk of his aura had been taken out, and he only had around two-thirds remaining. The wounded ursa went on all fours and tried to run him down. Ironwood tried to get out of the way, but couldn't get to his feet in time.

A beam of red light struck the ursa in the neck just above the jaw. The ursa was blasted of its feet and thrown to the left, bowling over a beowolf charging at full pelt. As he turned to see who fired, a familiar voice shouted above the din. His specialist team, who had been positioned around the town, finally arrived at his position.

'Ho there! You go take charge of the coup, General! We'll take care of this mess.' A beowolf's roar turned into a whimper as another of the Specialists spun his double-ended machete, cleaving it in two.

The battered army regained its moral at the sight of the Specialists. Ironwood, however, refused to leave. Looking over at the Specialists, he plunged his sword into the snowy ground and used it to push himself to his feet. 'I'm not going anywhere.' He looked at each of the Specialists in the eyes. 'Right now, we need to kill the Grimm and seal the walls. Otherwise, we won't have a city to save from Black. Only a ruin.'

Raising his sword in the air, Ironwood shouted to his men. 'The Specialists are here! Hold your ground, and we'll retake this city inch by inch! For tomorrow! For Mantle!'

'For Mantle!'

The men surged at the Grimm, unleashing a wild war-cry. Their bayonets flashed in the morning air and their bullets streaked towards the black mass like angry hornets. Ironwood and his team of Specialists carved a path through the Grimm, inspiring the men even further. They worked flawlessly; their Dust rifles easily piercing the thick skin of the ursa and their deft strikes making quick work of any Grimm which dared to get close. Ironwood parried and slashed, killing one Grimm after another.

One brave Grimm ran straight at Ironwood, fangs bared, and took a lunging bite at his shoulder. As it opened its ugly mouth, Ironwood jammed his sword into its jaws and fired. The round was swallowed by the unfortunate Grimm. Its body bloated up, and then smoky tendrils of flesh exploded in all directions.

The battle dragged on. Minute after minute, hour after hour, the Ironwood's army fought against the Grimm. Ironwood's aura had depleted around an hour into the battle. His shoulder was torn, both legs had deep scratches and two of his fingers holding the kreigsmesser were probably broken. His most annoying injury was a cut just above his left eyebrow. The blood continued to drip as he fought, stinging his eye.

There was no sense of time anymore. Each stroke from the kreigsmesser strained his injured shoulder and every parry caused pain to shoot up his arm from his broken fingers. Then a boarbatusk rammed Ironwood, the tusk cutting a deep wound in his knee. Ironwood howled in pain, but staggered onwards. Each strike became less refined and more feral as Ironwood fought for the sake of survival.

The army slowly made their way to the eastern gate, with Ironwood and his team of Specialists spearheading the march.

'That's the last of 'em, General.'

It took them almost four hours to clear out the Grimm from the city. The bloodied Ironwood sat on the sidewalk, two medics attending to his injuries.

Ironwood addressed one of the Specialists. 'I'll leave the construction of the temporary barricade to you, Caecilius.' He then turned to the other four. 'The rest of you come with me. We're ousting Black once and for all. Tch, I never thought he'd blow a hole in the city walls to wear down my army. This is truly a new low, even for him.' Ironwood stood up and put his hand on the lead medic's shoulder. 'That's enough, lad. Go take a look at some of my soldiers.'

As the two medics left, Ironwood continued his talk with his team.

'Some new orders for you guys. Don't catch Black. Kill on sight. I don't need some more last-minute desperado ruining the city.'

'Yessir.'

'Come on, then. Let's continue our little coup.'

* * *

James Black and Xander Schnee stood behind a set of telescreens. They watched as Ironwood paraded his flamboyant military down the main road, towards the gates of the complex. To James, it was a vulgar showing of force hidden behind the pretentiousness and false righteousness of Williams' speech. He never believed such a farce would happen in front of his own eyes. James Black, the despotic Chairman? Ha, now there was a humorous line which could be passed through the generations. If only other three members of the Council knew what he, Black, was fighting against…

When Schnee had first informed Black of the planned coup d'état and the attempted assassination, he had been flabbergasted. He never believed his own council would turn against him, particularly not he avuncular Ironwood whom Black viewed as his knight in the game of chess he played. However, he confirmed the betrayal at the Council meeting when Revach proposed that he leave for Liquid. Black wanted to shout at him to stay, but the conspirators held enough votes for Revach to be sent away. Thus, Black's bishop, Revach, had been removed before the game had commenced and his knight had turned against him. He sent his queen, Cynthia, to protect Revach from the whims of Judith. The only pieces remaining were his pawns: his own household troops.

Luckily, Judith's eagerness to send Black to Northern Anima clouded her rather formidable insight, and the face mask provided by Schnee fooled the two of them sufficiently. His stunt double hadn't spoken to Ironwood or Williams on the way to the airship, as his voice was much deeper than Black's. Xander had informed the two traitors that the fake Black had a sore throat, removing the need for conversation.

Black had not been truthful with his counterpart. Off course, the task was not posed as a suicide mission. But the man had sworn his life to Black (albeit after some monetary incentives), so he didn't go into unnecessary details. As he contemplated the events of the past week, Lewis, the man in charge of his personal household troops, reported in.

'All men have been briefed, outfitted and deployed. One hundred men currently deployed as civilians and ready to respond to the coup, as per your orders. I've deployed the sixty to maintain border defences for the government complex, thirty to defend the government building and ten as your personal guard. The men guarding the outer wall of the complex will engage as soon as the eastern wall of Mantle goes down.'

Xander spoke up after the report from Lewis.

'Don't worry about the Chairman's safety. I will attend to that. The ten that were to be Black's special guard will be the response team. We're stretched as it is; we need some flexibility depending on what Ironwood throws at us. That paranoid old man… I wasn't able to see his plans for the coup. I don't think he trusted me, only wanted me out of the way.'

Lewis made a noise like a soft hiss, but Black calmed him down. 'Don't worry about me. I trust Xander.'

'Very well, Chairman.'

'That would be all.'

The telescreen turned blank once more as Lewis ended the video call. Then, there was a sound like a thundering avalanche and a few seconds a later, the ground shook as if in response. Ironwood and his pet army would soon be pinned down by the machinations of Revach.

Black watched from the monitors as Ironwood turned his army to engage the Grimm. Wave after wave, the amorphous black mass that was the horde of Grimm was butchered by Ironwood's men. Black had to hand it to him. The army Ironwood trained was probably the best in Remnant, and this battle showed it. They fought tooth and nail for every inch of ground.

The remainder of the army was pinned down by the auto-cannons guarding the complex and also by Black's men on the walls. Lewis had equipped all of them with Dust-based sniper rifles, and the effectiveness was second-to-none. Beams of yellow light streaked from the walls, cutting down any and all who dared to oppose. Unless a miracle were to occur, the coup had stuttered to a halt, at least until Ironwood had dealt with the new threat.

Hours passed. Black sat with a cup of tea warming his hands as he watched the butchering of Ironwood's once-proud army. He watched as the Specialists arrived, and watched as they pushed against the Grimm.

It was obvious that Revach's plan had worked; Ironwood's army had been cut down to almost half its original size. The devastating plan to unleash the Grimm meant that the powerful knight, Ironwood, was now heavily weakened. Although he was much more of a philosopher than a believer of faith, Black sent his thanks to the Creator that Revach Emory was his ally. He'd helped himself and Schnee out of quite a bind.

What a perfect opening, Revach's Ruy-Lopez.

* * *

 **G'day, mate! I think (based off story data) that there's only 2 people keeping up with this fanfic. Thanks so much for reading, it's been a blast to write. If you have any questions this far into the story, leave it as a review: I'll be happy to answer them in the next chapter.**

 **I'm sorry this is late. I'll probably be changing up the schedule a bit because of homework and other stuff. I'll do my best to release two chapters a week and, from now on, I'll be wrapping up the Coup D'etat/Intro Arc and we can finally move into the beginning of the Great War...**

 **Thanks for reading**

 **-J**


	11. Like Wolves Among Sheep

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 10: Like Wolves among Sheep

Lewis wore trousers and a thick black snow jacket typical of Mantle citizens. Although black stood out from the stark whiteness of the snowscape, it prevented bloodstains from being seen at a distance. Stepping out of the rented apartment, he could see the beginning of the enormous hole in the eastern wall of Mantle city. Trudging in that general direction he happened upon some men leaving the scene and shouted to the group of haggard soldiers.

'Help me! There's a huge Grimm bear in our apartment! It was outside room 102 just then.'

The four soldiers hurried over. Despite their fatigue, they instantly headed the room. The door was already ajar and had long scratch marks near the handle. The men burst in, and almost instantly fell dead as two men with silenced pistols shot the two leading soldiers in the head. Lewis drew his pistol; his hand a blur from the practised motion. Double-tapping the trigger, the two men at the back fell as bullets entered the base of their necks. Any sound the men made was cut short and masked by the continued bursts of rifle fire. A door opened, and a kid no more than five years old peeked out.

Lewis levelled his pistol at the kids' head but thought better of it. He tried to play the motion off as waving. 'Get back inside kiddo, there's a big bad Grimm in the block!' The kid instantly slammed the door and a loud wailing echoed out his room. Lewis looked up and down the corridor before addressing his companions.

'Good job men. Let's keep hunting.' Lewis stepped inside, careful to avoid the pools of blood now spilling out like a miniaturised crimson tide as they dragged the bodies into the apartment. The two other men were also Black's operatives; his "household" troops. They stowed away their weapons and, as they stepped outside, chanced another squad of soldiers. The eight soldiers were either fresh from the barracks or sent from the coup. The officer greeted them by waving his rifle and then spoke in a voice which sounded like the personification of an inferiority complex.

'Umm… Civilians should step back inside…'

'Uh yeah, uh, we got some injured soldiers up in our apartment. Could you check on them? They're bleeding out.' As Lewis said this, he concealed one hand behind his back and gave signals. When the men drew closer, Lewis shouted 'You gotta hurry! They're not going to last long, mark my words.'

On the word "mark" the three men drew their pistols. Fountains of blood erupted from the soldier's heads and chests, painting the snow with crimson streaks. One man managed to raise his rifle just in time, but Lewis stepped forward, pushing the nozzle of the rifle aside as he closed the distance and jammed the nozzle into the man's mouth. The man shuddered twice as two bullets tore out the back of his head, spraying the air with a fine, red mist.

'Keep 'em out. Eyes on the streets. Guns away when we round the corner.'

'Gotcha boss'. The two men raised their pistols, moving slowly in formation with Lewis. As they poked their heads around the street corner, they saw two Grimm beowolves in the middle of the street devouring the remains of a Mantle army squadron. Their massive jaws easily ripped flesh from bone and small jerks from their necks tore entire limbs from the corpses.

'Whoa, easy there lads. Keep your emotions down. We don't need to deal with those brutes if we don't have to. Guns out, and keep moving down the road. Krael, keep your eye out behind us for them Grimm.' The party of men moved briskly yet cautiously down the road to the next intersection. As they approached, there were sounds of boots crunching in the snow. Lewis stopped. 'Guns away.'

Another squadron of eight soldiers appeared around the corner. Their physical exertion made then red in the face. Lewis pretended to be panicked, and pointed down the road towards the previous squadron they had murdered.

'Help us! There's two Grimm. They killed that squad over there and they're around the corner right now!'

Right on cue, two beowolves turned the corner. They must have sensed the heightened levels of fear from the soldiers, as their eyes flared causing streaks of red to rise out like smoke. The sergeant readied his rifle, his bayonet already attached. Taking a wide stance, he aimed and shouted 'Fire at will!'

Lewis and his two companions barely had time to hit the ground. A wall of bullets streaked out from the squadron, bruising the underbelly of the two beowolves. They staggered for a second, and then the larger beowolf dropping onto all fours and pounced straight at the sergeant. He was standing still, rooted to the ground. Lewis could tell from his closed eyes that he was firing blindly and hoping that the bullets would find a sweet spot to kill the monster before it lunged. But, of course, miracles don't happen. The huge black monster tackled the sergeant, its jaws closing around his head. Biting down, it pinned the sergeant's legs on the floor and tossed its neck upwards.

There was a brief moment of silence as the headless corpse sat upright. Even the blood vessels had to take a second before realising they had been torn apart. Then, a torrent of blood spewed from the man's neck, as if someone turned a hose to full blast. It spat out, rising three metres into the air. Then, the cold Mantle air froze it, and before the blood could touch the ground, it solidified into red crystals, falling on the soldiers like little bits of hail. It would have been beautiful if not for the corpse slowly falling on its back.

Lewis was the first to react. He motioned to his men and they ran down the road the soldiers had come from. 'Use your Dust guns!' There wasn't the time to stay inconspicuous. Lewis was pretty sure the men would be able to deal with the Grimm, but their fear would draw even more Grimm to the area. As he ran, he checked his Scroll for the closest path to the complex.

He took a right. Then another right. And then a left.

Just as he predicted, a huge ursa greeted him at the next street. Raising his Dust pistol, he squeezed the trigger. A bolt of red Dust shot out, hitting the ursa in the head. It recoiled, stung, but not severely injured.

Lewis aimed again and fired. This time, it hit the edge of the eye. A small part of its bone armour was chipped away from the blast. _So the Grimm do have weaknesses_. 'Aim for the eyes. Prioritise minimising injuries over killing it.'

As Lewis spoke, the ursa reared onto its hind legs like a huge bear. It swatted at the man on the right, Jean-Luc, but he rolled out of the way. Krael was quick to respond. He fired two rapid shots at the base of its neck and one pierced the black skin between the armour plates. The ursa squealed, its neck thrown sideways from the blasts. Lewis ran up to the creature and fired a salvo of rounds at its eye, and the ursa collapsed, smoke rising from the limp body.

The group of men stopped for a moment. Lewis had his hands on his knees, panting, and Jean-Luc was sitting on the ground, one leg bent and the other one straight. There was blood coming out of his straightened leg, and a long cut ranged from his knee to his hip.

'Jean, pal, you alright?'

Jean-Luc was already taking out a canister from his belt. 'Yeah, I'll be fine. I didn't bring any painkillers though.' As he said this, he sprayed the bottle over his leg and winced. The medical foam acted as both a disinfectant and a coagulant, but Lewis knew it stung like crazy. Taking two pills from his own pack, Lewis handed them to Jean-Luc.

'Eat up.'

'Cheers.'

Jean-Luc then took out his canteen, and swallowed the two white pills. Strapping his leg with some bandages, he got to his feet. Lewis looked at his two men, and motioned for them to keep going.

'No rest for us, lads. Keep moving. We need to find more squads to kill off. Otherwise, we'll be at quite the disadvantage once they bring their army back around and start the siege on the complex. Let's head-'

Krael interrupted. 'Boss, we need a couple more minutes to catch our breath and for those painkillers to kick in for Jean. There's a dead end over there, and it's got some dumpsters we can hide behind while we recover.'

Lewis thought for a brief moment and then responded. 'Sure, that's a good idea. I need to check up on the other teams anyway.' He motioned at the two men and the team walked into the alleyway. Lewis pulled out a large scroll, laying it on the ground so everyone else could see. Pointing to the crossroads, he said 'We need to avoid these places; I heard from the boss that blockades had been set up at important junctures. We can't exactly walk up to them, and there's no cover on big roads.'

Scattered around the map were thirty or so red dots, each representing a team. They were spread out like a large net around the government complex, intercepting lone squads of Mantle troops as they were reassigned.

'All the teams seem to be on course as of now. Let's keep it up.'

* * *

'Captain Morcos! I've got a line for you from General Ironwood!'

The comms officer held out a radio. Bursts of fire were exchanged in front of the complex; yellow streaks of light raining down upon any soldier who tried to take potshots. The army had been pinned down at the entrance of the government complex four almost four hours, and the number of casualties continued to rise. Morcos took the radio in one hand while firmly pressing down with his other, preventing the loss of blood from a sergeant as a medic rummaged around, trying to find additional supplies.

A voice came through.

'Morcos! You're the highest ranking officer right now. I need you to break open the siege. Do whatever needs to be done. I'm permitting everything. Find a way into that damned complex. Be careful, the defenders are the-'

The General's voice was interrupted by a burst of gunshots. Looking around, Morcos saw a man with his shoulder blown clean off by whatever tech the defenders were using. Then, another man rounded the corner of the street, firing randomly at the wall as he tried to drag the injured soldier back into cover. Three streaks of yellow light hit him in succession. The first blasted his entire right leg off, the second hit him in the abdomen and the third connected with his head. A gooey mess of charred meat and brains spewed down his shoulders as the man collapsed.

'-Good luck!'

The line shut off.

'FUCK!' Morcos turned on his comms officer. 'He wants us to storm the place. What the actual fuck is he thinking?! There's no way we'll reach the front doors. Then we have to blow it open!' Turning his attention to the medic, Morcos continued. 'And you! The fuck do ya think you're doing? Hurry up or this soldier's gonna bite it!'

The medic pulled out a knife and cut off some cloth from a dead soldier's vest. Then, put some coagulant powder on it before applying it to the leg of the wounded soldier. The soldier screamed, then passed out.

Morcos turned back to the comms officer, lightly slapping him a few times in the face to get his attention. 'Where's our fucking air support? Get a line to the General up again. We need some more troops or some bigger guns!' The comms officer didn't respond. His hands were shaking and his pupils had dilated slightly. As a veteran from the Conquest of Vacuo, Morcos had seen this in the green boys before.

He took out his pistol and fired into the ground. The boy dropped the receiver, and his knees buckled. Catching it in midair, Morcos looked down at the boy. 'Oi, kid, call the captain for the second fleet. We need some more firepower.'

The boy's hands were still trembling as he spoke.

'Yessir! I'll do that right away.'

He fumbled at the machine and dialled a sequence. There was static for a few seconds, and then the line went through.

'Captain Morcos to Second Fleet! Can you hear me?'

'Not a good time for a call, buddy!'

A light, sarcastic voice came through the radio. If Morcos didn't know the man, he would've pegged him as a slovenly, incapable officer.

'We need air support to break through the front of the complex. What the hell do ya think you're doing? I'm losing good men while you're up in the air jacking off, Torchwick!'

'Eh!? Firstly, I can't hold a wand and a joystick at the same time. Secondly… can't you see I'm… NOT HAVING A GOOD FUCKING TIME?! Why don't ya look up at the sky, buddy? We're getting ripped to shreds right outside the Northern Wall.'

Morcos put down his receiver craned his neck. The building he was taking cover behind blocked his view, but the clear blue sky flashed with light, probably due to airship combat. He tried to lean to one side and get a better view, but a streak of yellow light from the front of the complex warmed his cheek.

'I can't fucking see the sky! We're still pinned down by snipers!'

'Well, I'm _so_ sorry to disappoint you… I'm dealing with a pack of Nevermores that popped up. Could you give an old friend a couple more hours?'

'COULD YOU JUST SEND ME SOME FUCKING FIGHTERS?'

'…'

There was a pause. Morcos cursed into the monotonous static. A few moments later, the line connected again.

'Whaddya need?'

'Some way to scramble the snipers so we can get make it to the front door.'

There was silence. Then, a few loud thuds came through the radio, followed by a series of orders from Torchwick. Several seconds later, Torchwick spoke into the radio once more.

'Ya got five second-gen bombers, in three minutes. They'll make a run from the south up the main road. Sorry, buddy, but Nevermores are a pain straight up the… I… I just can't spare more.' The obvious sombreness in Torchwick's normally upbeat voice frightened Morcos. He was probably in some deep shit.

'Right-o. Thanks, Torchwick.'

Morcos gave the radio back to the boy, set a three-minute timer on his watch and then dialled the general signal for each platoon sergeant.

'All teams, report in. Short status update: casualties, sit-rep and ammo.'

Mantle's army consisted of squads of eight soldiers – called fireteams – with five in every platoon. Morcos' company had ten platoons under his command, which was a total of four hundred men. As the ninth report came in, he estimated that he only had around two hundred and fifty men remaining. He waited for the final sergeant to report in but there was only silence. Then, the radio crackled.

'Uh, Charlie platoon here. I dunno what Foxtrot is doing, but they took cover in the building next to ours. It's a civvie apartment. They've got minimal casualties, I think. Snipers haven't been shooting near us. I dunno why they're not-'

A loud explosion tore through the radio. Morcos, caught by surprise, jerked it away from his ear.

'What the hell's going on over there Charlie?'

The sound of static filled his ears. Morcos peeked out from behind his cover to see a building sway, and then fall; rubble spewing out across the road. The ground trembled as the five-storey apartment collapsed, causing Morcos to fall to one knee. Instantly, a jet of light came out of nowhere, licking at his leg and setting his trousers on fire.

'Fucking snipers!'

There was no doubt. That was the building Charlie platoon had been taking cover in. However, it kicked up the snow and a cloud of dust drifted upwards from the ruins. After patting out the flames, Morcos waved at his men. 'Come on! We won't get another chance. Take cover behind the rubble!'

Morcos ran forwards, his men following only a few paces behind. The snipers were firing blindly through the dust, but only one shot connected. The unfortunate soldier had his arm blown off from the shoulder and subsequently died of shock.

Throwing himself forwards, Morcos dived into cover. A hand greeted him, bloody fingers sticking out of the rubble; half clenched as if they were trying to reach something out of sight. A crushed radio lay on the ground under the hand. Morcos was about to pick it up when his wristwatch emitted a soft, humming sound. This was followed by screech which turned into a much deeper rumbling as five second-gen bombers flew in formation towards the front of the complex.

Jets of yellow light met them in midair. It was fired in a coordinated volley, all aimed at the cockpit of the leading plane. The four remaining planes aborted their run as the leader was shot down. Morcos watched as the damaged plane spiralled out of control, tumbling straight towards the front of the complex.

'TAKE COVER!'

The plane disappeared into the dust which still hung in the air. Then there was an explosion, and a pillar of flame rose from the entrance of the complex. When Morcos raised his head over the rubble, a wave of heat forced him back down. So intense was the heat that a brief glimpse caused his eyes to water and he could feel slight burns on the uncovered parts of his face.

'Captain! What the hell? How does a plane blow up like that? I've never seen such a huge-'

'The pilot was coming in for the run. Knowing Torchwick, he probably loaded the ships with some Dust missiles. I'm guessing they were probably already armed, otherwise a plane crash wouldn't detonate them.'

Morcos put a hand over the rubble. He could still fell the heat through his gloves, but it wasn't unbearable. He waved at his men once more. 'Let's go, this is our chance!' He tried smile at his men but it was just feigned jollity.

Vaulting over the rubble, Morcos let loose a wordless war cry and charged at the main gate. There were no streaks of light coming from the wall now. Emerging from the thick wall of dust, Morcos could taste bile at the back of his throat. He involuntarily shuddered. Looking around, the ground had been… reshaped by the explosion. The cobblestone had turned into a thick sludge, and was flowing slowly like a glacier. As it moved, it solidified due to the harsh cold of Solitos. However, bones and melted flesh were caught in the magma. Morcos watched as the upper torso of a man wearing black dissolved in the molten stone, and a breeze of hot air ushered over the smell of burning fats and charred meat. It was the smell of war, and it excited him.

There were several retching sounds behind him. Morcos smiled bitterly. Those green boys were the normal people; he himself was the unusual case. After all, it was difficult for Morcos to sympathise with the snipers who had taken so many lives of his platoon when he himself survived the conquest of Vacuo by sending in his men to draw fire (admittedly from bows, not anti-material Dust rifles).

'Take a moment lads, but not too long. We gotta move, otherwise the snipers will be back and we'll be target practise.'

As he said this, the dust began to settle. Then there was a shout.

'Oi! Who's in charge?'

Morcos turned towards the source and shouted back. 'Yeah, that's me. Who's there?' He scanned the streets. Three figures emerged from the last wisps of smoke. They all wore black snow jackets. One of them was limping slightly, a bloodied trouser leg flapping in the soft breeze. As they approached, Morcos spoke once more.

'You're civvies?'

'Yeah… There's a huge Grimm going through my apartment. Could you help us? Please… my daughter…'

The man who spoke had brown eyes and hair, and looked vaguely familiar. Morcos tried to remember where he had seen him from. The way he walked seemed very professional for a civvie; his gait was soft and balanced, and although his voice was panicky and eyes were slightly teary, Morcos couldn't taste any fear emanating from the man.

Morcos looked around at his men. "Delta platoon, go help out with the Grimm! Move yer asses! NOW!" The group of haggard soldiers in white Mantle uniforms followed the men in black, and were lead into a side alley.

Something felt… wrong for Morcos. There was an unusual sense of bloodlust emanating from the men he had just met. Brushing off the sudden apprehension, Morcos continued forwards once the molten stone hardened. He accidentally nudged a charred arm and the entire protrusion crumbled into a pile of ash.

The slightly sweet, cloying smell of burnt meat was becoming less prominent, and after quickly stepping through the haze, he and his men were met with another volley of fire. The front row fell, writhing as they did so.

'GET DOWN! USE THE BODIES AS COVER!'

He dropped to his stomach, hiding behind two men who had soaked the initial bullets in his place. Although he had broken through the main gate of the complex, there was still the government building to take.

The comms officer collapsed next to Morcos. He had the radio in one hand and was proffering it while screaming in agony. Morcos curled up into a ball behind the wall of bodies which was now piling up due to the men charging through the gates and straight into enemy fire.

'It's Captain Morcos!'

'Ironwood here! I hear you've broken through the main gate! Good work. Now get your men out, I've got armoured trucks which can soak some shots while we get in!'

'Yessir!'

Morcos slammed the radio back into the holster on the comms officer's pack. He yelled to the men around him 'We've done our bit, let's get the hell outta here! General Ironwood's gonna handle the rest!'

The men didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled back to the gate of the complex, bullets hailing down all around them. Bits of stone were flung into the air and one of them cut across Morcos' cheek. Grimacing slightly, Morcos looked around for remaining men. His comms officer had three or four bullets go through one of his legs which had been sticking out of cover.

Morcos lifted the man up under the armpits and began to drag him backwards. Bullets ricocheted around him, but his sense of hearing had been dulled by the hours of battle. He tripped slightly on the arm of a dead soldier. Then, there was a searing pain as if a flaming spear had been stuck into his body.

A wave of agony coursed through his chest. Morcos felt as if he'd been winded, and looking down, he could see the edge of his organs. In a twist of fate, Morcos had fell before the bullet hit him, which meant the round had gone through his kidney instead of his knee. Thanking his lucky stars, Morcos gritted his teeth and tried to push through the pain. His entire right side was weak. Pulling the comms officer with one arm, Morcos continued to drag him out.

One step at a time… Left… Right… Left…

One more step…

Just one more…

JUST ONE MORE!

He collapsed as soon as they were outside the complex; outside the line of fire. A medic rushed over, a bundle of supplies in his arms, and began trying to staunch the bleeding. Morcos almost blacked out a couple of times from the antiseptic. The corners of his vision began to go dark. Splashing himself with some cold water from his canteen, Morcos recovered slightly.

Something was wrong. His men were still screaming as if they were still under fire. He couldn't think straight. Addressing the medic, Morcos tried to speak.

'Oi… bud… what's going on?'

His voice was so slurred that the medic had to lean closer. Morcos repeated his sentence. 'What… the men… they're not… right…'

The medic turned looked around and tried reach for his gun. Then, he collapsed. A spurt of blood sprayed over Morcos' face. Morcos pushed the man off himself to see the civvie from earlier carrying a silenced pistol. What…? Even if the civvie managed to get a gun from one of his dead soldiers, Morcos didn't remember equipping his men with prototype pistols or silencers.

The civvie aimed the gun between his eyes.

'What's going on? What're you-'


	12. Only the Dead May Find Repose

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 11: Only the Dead May Find Repose

The most efficient method of dealing with a multi-faceted foe was to remove the head. And Revach prepared to do exactly that. With him on his airbus were Fang's group of Huntsmen, all standing rather at ease despite heading into a war zone. Revach focused on his breathing. He had never seen first-hand the atrocities of combat. This would be the first time he led an army. And the execution demanded perfection.

By a stroke of luck, Ironwood had decided to command the Mantle army from the front lines; that much was known by Revach. Yet with the appearance of the Grimm, Ironwood turned the army around to confront the new threat. To win the game that was war, Revach understood he must take two steps for every one his opponent will take. If he was honourable, he wouldn't kick his opponent while he was down, but Revach himself knew that honour killed more than foolishness; an idiot wouldn't know how to make enemies while the chivalrous knows not what enemies he made.

'Secretary Emory! We're coming up on Mantle City. We have a call coming in from the Second Fleet.'

Revach turned to the co-pilot who had come to deliver the news. He put one hand into his pocket clutched the bishop before responding with his voice slightly strained.

'Please proceed as planned.'

'Yessir.'

Revach listened in on the co-pilot as he spoke into his microphone.

'–coming in from Curtain. The villages outside of the main town have been attacked by the Grimm, and there's been a sudden spike in Grimm activity. Requesting entrance and landing, we're running out of fuel… No, I'm afraid we can't land outside the walls, there are far too many Grimm… Please hurry, we're running of fumes… Yessir, confirming coordinates for landing: Lima -four-niner-Sierra- seven-three… I understand sir, I'll pass the message onto the other ships, could you please advise–'

Closing the door with a shudder, Revach took a deep breath. They were through the first obstacle. Now, it was simply a matter of locating Ironwood and Williams to demoralise the Mantle Army and put an end to the coup.

The fleet of airbuses hummed as they descended into the city's multi-purpose sports stadium. The four Huntsmen leapt out before the ships touched the ground in case of Grimm, Fang's cape trailing out behind him like a black sail catching the wind. The injured girl, Apollo, had her weapon deployed like a rifle while the others deployed them in the melee form. Since Fang's Gauntlet Blade had broken, he wielded the katana of the dead assassin.

The Huntsmen had been given two orders. Seal the walls. Kill the remaining Grimm inside the city. On top of that, Revach told them that any soldier who shows hostility is fair game, after all, one cannot kill if he is not ready for death himself.

As soon as they landed, a call was patched through to his Scroll. Looking down, he saw it was Cynthia.

'Yes?'

'Revach, Ironwood is leading his men straight to the government building. They've already broken through the outer walls of the complex.'

Bingo. A weakened Ironwood should easily go down to the two hundred men he recruited from Liquid, not to mention the two Specialists who decided to join him.

'How many men has he lost? Actually, how many men does he have?'

'Ironwood's lost around one thousand troops from Black and his team of operatives. Roughly one thousand and five hundred were lost or injured from fighting the Grimm. One thousand are tied up blockading the major crossroads and city walls while another three hundred or so died during the siege of the complex. As for the siege on the government building, I'm not certain, but I'm guess that two hundred are out from that. This leaves us with roughly a thousand men to contend with, give or take two hundred.'

'Thank you, Cynthia. Where are you right now?'

'With my father and Black, inside the government building.'

'WHAT?!'

He heard a sigh across the call. It was followed by an exasperated but amused voice. 'I'm not a child, Revach. Especially since I'm the head of security. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.' Cynthia paused for a moment, before adding in 'Come quickly though, we're about to be overrun. They didn't bring takes but their armoured trucks are soaking our fire without much of a problem.'

'Alrighty. I'll get going. Just don't shoot down the little fleet of airbuses. There's about forty or so.'

'…Thanks.'

The call was ended by Revach, who flipped the scroll over and back into his coat. He took the military radio pack and called his group of men.

'Can you all hear me? OK, guys, we've got a change of plans. We'll be heading straight to the government building inside the complex. Pilots, get ready for takeoff. Once we get close, open the doors and windows so we can shoot out. Circle the complex; we're aiming for the squads who're taking cover behind the armoured trucks. Let's move.'

Just after the airbuses began to rise, a voice came out of the cockpit addressing him.

'Revach! We've got a man calling himself Baldwin on the radio. He wants some sort of trade, but he wouldn't tell us what it is. He says he wants to talk with you face to face.'

Baldwin… now there was an interesting person. Once a simple drug smuggler and human trafficker, he cut a deal with the government and began to work under Judith to regulate trade and taxes on the less savoury side of Mantle City. Before long, he was known as the Fat Man, and was an official with a large amount of connections cutting the line between legality and crime. Revach was surprised that such a man would contact him; his loyalties should have been with Judith. He walked into the cockpit with the two pilots and put on the headset of the co-pilot.

'It's Revach here.'

'Ah, how wonderful to hear your voice, Secretary Emory. I had feared the assassins sent by Williams would have silenced it, but it appears you have arrived in Mantle City safe and sound.'

It was obvious that a man with such a strong information network within the underworld would know of his arrival, and yet Revach was still impressed.

'From your tone, you sent them.'

'Hahaha, how very astute. But that was when I believed she would be on the winning side. It appears that the Huntsmen of yours are quite a powerful force. Those mercenaries were two of the best: they served as Specialists before defecting to the underground after the conquest of Vacuo. Also, I'm finally beginning to understand why you called the Huntsmen in; it's to deal with the aftermath of letting the Grimm rampage around the city, isn't it? In this way, you also gain the support of the people. Imagine the rumours: the great Revach Emory foresaw the gathering storm and hired a group of Huntsmen out of his own pocket while infighting within an incompetent Council led to a failed coup d'état.'

'I'm afraid I'm not here for idle chatter, Baldwin. I've got somewhere to be. What did you want to trade?'

'Caught your attention, did I? Very well then. A women by the name of Margaret Lilith may be leaving Mantle City shortly after the coup. You might find her… interesting. After all, I understand you keep a tight leash on your enemies, no?'

'When is she leaving? What does the passport look like? How will she try to get out?'

'That's a lot of questions at once. I might need to quickly replay the audio to ensure-'

'Baldwin…'

'-that I heard all of them-'

'Baldwin-'

'-correctly so I don't miss any useful-'

'-CUT THE BULLSHIT.'

There was a brief silence.

'You'll have to give me something in return.'

'Yes?' Revach eagerly twirled the bishop around in his palm, his anticipation rising.

'A promise that you will not interfere with Mantle City's underworld, and a partnership with me for… taxes and other useful perks. In Mantle credits, of course, not lien.'

Silently, the bishop dropped into his lap.

'So, to summarise, I get bribed with credits and information to turn a blind eye to the imports and exports of the underworld.'

'That's a rather vulgar manner of presenting the information, but yes.'

What a lucky streak he was on. Revach would have killed in return for a connection to the underworld, and here was Baldwin, presenting him with an easy path in. There was no way he could refuse. Even with the terms as they are, it was already a mutually beneficial relationship. He replied in the same monotone, careful not to show his enthusiasm.

'Before I accept, answer this question: Who do you serve as of now? The realm of Mantle? Williams? Or some other person or ideal?'

The silence lasted longer than Revach anticipated. He could feel Baldwin fidgeting on the other side of the call, wondering how best to answer the question. Unknown to Baldwin, Revach was looking for truthfulness, and not a "correct" answer.

'…I serve myself, Revach. If I am alive and business is flourishing, then I consider myself successful.'

'Thank you for your honesty, Baldwin. Very well, I accept your terms on two conditions.'

'And they are?'

'Firstly, you must not smuggle weaponry or weapon-related material to Vale. The tensions between Vale, Mistral and Mantle are at an all time high, and military equipment entering a foreign country could be viewed as unwarranted hostility. Secondly, I will only guarantee the terms once we have Williams.'

'Very well, Secretary Emory. I agree to your terms. I trust that we will have a relationship which will only flourish over time… Oh, and I will send a document with the relevant information on Ms Lilith shortly. It will detail how I've advised her to travel.'

'Thank you, Baldwin. I'll be sure to show my appreciation once the coup is over.'

'I'll leave you alone now. Oh, one final thing. Ironwood's at the back of the army by the way. Two streets down from the south gate of the complex in a white tent. Au revoir.'

'Oi wait! Did you say Ironwood was-'

Baldwin's voice vanished and it was replaced with static. Revach turned to the two pilots, slightly miffed about the lack of confirmation. He would be taking a risk by flying outside of the complex, after all, he didn't know whether Baldwin was being truthful or not. It could all be a trap. The best way to deal with this would probably be to split up his troops. Even if a small portion was taken out by an ambush, the remaining ships would still be able to pick off the soldiers hiding behind the armoured trucks.

'Can one of you put me on a general call for all pilots?'

'Sure'

The co-pilot fiddled with a knob and then flicked a switch.

'You should be on.'

Revach took a moment to compose his thoughts.

'Gentlemen, I've have some new information. Ironwood is commanding his army in a white tent roughly two streets down from the south gate. Thirty of the airbuses are to circle the courtyards of the government complex and take out any of Ironwood's remaining soldiers. Airbus eleven will lead, airbus twelve will act as the secondary leader. Airbuses two through ten will follow my lead. We'll be going out of the complex and taking on Ironwood himself. Relay the instructions to the city guard: Do not injure Ironwood, but kill his Specialists.'

Handing the headphones back to the co-pilot, Revach picked up his bishop once more. Was he a sacrifice? It didn't matter now. If he captured Ironwood, the risk would have been worth the goodwill he would scrounge from Black and Schnee. And taking down Ironwood was the most efficient method of stopping the violence in the city. If he couldn't even save the city from Ironwood, how was he to save the world from the terrors of the Grimm?

Only a minute later, the airbuses flew over the eastern wall of the complex. Standing behind the pilots in the cockpit, Revach could see the remains of several Mantle air carriers in the side of a mountain. Two of them were still in the air, battered beyond comprehension, and were attempting to fend off one final Nevermore. Revach watched as the flagship rammed the Nevermore while the turrets fired volleys of bullets at the wings. The primary Dust cannon had been ripped off its hinges, connected by only a few metal cables. Then, the other air carrier flew over the Nevermore while it was preoccupied, and dropped something on it. The flash of light which followed was as bright as looking straight at the sun. A moment later, it vanished, and the Nevermore began to fall, its wings splayed at an awkward angle and a hole in the middle of its chest.

The pilot banked the airship to the left, and Revach slipped slightly. Grabbing onto the back of the chair, he looked out at the ground. There were vehicles which looked like armadillos from the air, and small specks of white cowered behind them.

'Tell the airships to peel off now! Do as much damage as you can; they still outnumber us.'

The pilot began to fly his airbus along the walls of the complex. Behind them, nine other crafts followed. They flew past the south wall and began searching for the aforementioned white command tent.

'Airship three says he sees a white tent!'

'Tell all pilots to go to his position!'

Revach's airship spun around and headed towards a pillar of smoke. It was the ruins of a building which had collapsed onto the main road of Mantle City. Next to it and out of the way of the entrance to the complex stood a large, white tent with the Mantle flag on the pinnacle. However, it looked more like a marquee than a regular army tent. As he watched, a figure in a white military coat stepped out, a sword at his hip and a pistol in his hand. His hair was white as well, and his square jaw line was unmistakable. Surrounding him stood five Specialists and a dozen soldiers surrounded the tent. Revach flicked his bishop in the air, and caught it in triumph. It looks like he would have to give Baldwin a little extra appreciation.

'Fire at the Specialists and the soldiers! Keep Ironwood alive.'

The pilots spun their airbuses around so that sides faced the tent. While the airbuses stabilised themselves in a circle, rifles poked out of the windows and doors like a makeshift hovering firing squad. A barrage of bullets ripped into the soldiers. Unlike the Specialists, they either only had minimal Aura and some had none at all. All of them collapsed within seconds. The Specialists deployed their weapons in the ranged form and tried to fire back while avoiding the hail of shots but to no avail. One by one, they collapsed.

One of the stray bullets caught the final Specialist in the midriff. He stumbled, trying desperately to continue firing back with his pistol. He planted his double-ended machete in the ground and tried to use it like a crutch. However, another hail of bullets rained from the adjacent airbus, and two or three hit the man in the back.

Ironwood turned around and looked at Revach's airbus as if drawn by some magnetic force. Raising his pistol, he fired. The bullets exploded as they made contact with the reinforced steel, jarring the airbus and causing the skeleton of the ship to whine in protest. Revach could see a dent near his foot. Taking the headphones from the co-pilot, Revach put them on and spoke.

'Ships two to four, land around Ironwood. Ships five to ten, stay in the air and shoot at any soldiers who come close. He's only got two rounds left; he shot four at my ship. Wait until he's out and then surround him. Keep your guard up. If he makes a move on anyone, shoot him in the legs. I need him alive.'

Four airbuses descended to encircle Ironwood. Unexpectedly, Ironwood threw his pistol on the ground several metres away from himself, and put his hands out to show that they were empty. Then, around two dozen city guards in their gray uniforms stepped out, their rifles raised and ready to fire. Revach exited his own ship and called out.

'Leon! It's certainly been a while. How was Mantle City while I was away?'

Ironwood looked at Revach with steady eyes. They crinkled slightly, but whether in remorse, surprise or hatred Revach couldn't tell.

'You're misguided Revach. Such a brilliant young man with so much potential… And Black reached out to you first. What a waste of talent.'

'What a waste of a good life, Leon. What made you rise up against the Council? Against Black?'

'If you still can't see it, I doubt I will have to tell you. After all, wilful ignorance is a powerful thing.'

'Black and I will make the world a better place. A safer place.' As he said this, Revach opened his arms, as if embracing the city of Mantle.

'You will rule with absolute authority, and no one will dare rise as they fear you. And fear draws the Grimm. You know that, don't you? After all, you used the negative emotions of the civilians generated by the coup to draw in the Grimm.'

'And how did you know it was me, and not Schnee or Black?'

'Schnee I kept tabs on, and Black is dead. You were the only person I didn't bother with as you were in Liquid.' While Ironwood said this, his eyes flickered slightly. He was a difficult man to read, and Revach didn't know if the twitch was from the suspicion that Black was still alive or some other reason.

'Hahaha… Yes, it was me, but it looks like even the great Ironwood isn't flawless enough to avoid errors. Black is still alive. He took out nearly one thousand and five hundred of your troops.'

'So it would seem… I was wondering why my support squads were all going dark. His special operatives are fearsome. Can't you see? As the Chairman, he already holds so much power. And then he establishes a regiment of operatives a month after his ascension. Do you know how he uses those men? He spies on his own people. The citizens of this Kingdom. And then he weeds out those who dissent. This is the trash that you support and this is what I'm fighting against.'

'Those are baseless rumours, Ironwood. The coup is over. I would recommend you call off-'

Before Revach could finish his sentence, the Specialist who had been shot down a minute before jumped to his feet. With a sweep of his double-ended machete, he cut down two men. Twirling it around, he beheaded a third before running at Revach. Shots rang out. The Specialist fell onto his knees while coughing up blood and trying to throw his weapon. It landed two metres away from Revach, one end stuck in the ground so it stood up. A city guard was howling in pain and clutching his leg. It seemed that one of the bullets aimed for the Specialist had flown past him, and hit the man in the thigh.

'Medic, go help that man. Hmm, where were we? Ah yes. Call off-'

'You will never understand, will you, Revach? Those who fight with a purpose and not just for themselves will never give in.' Ironwood drew his sword and planted it into the ground. Revach smiled as he did this, but the façade didn't reach his eyes.

'Then that will explain why I've never given in, no matter how hopeless the situation. After all, what I fight for is a brighter and better tomorrow for the citizens of Mantle and Remnant.'

'Oh? Do you? Huh… How very… worrisome. Nevertheless, I will continue to fight as long as I have a cause and a sword. For only the dead may find repose, and I have not yet met the Creator.'

Ironwood reached out and drew his sword out of the ground, pointing it at Revach as if challenging him in the tense silence. Revach contemplated the old General with his avuncular moustache. It was a pity that such a popular public figure had gone against the Council. Revach had theorised using Ironwood's trustworthy figure to further his own plans.

'General Ironwood, why do you continue this pointless struggle? We both are conscious of the futility in a final stand. It is not heroic; it is a pathetic and naïve form of retribution. Your actions erode the liveliness of those who do not question, but merely follow. In short, innocent lives. The man your Specialist decapitated, do you know his name? Did he have a family? Does he have a wife and children waiting for him, with his dinner growing cold on the table?'

Revach took a moment to let his words sink in. An honourable man like Ironwood had one weakness and Revach would use it as much as he can. Then, he continued as Ironwood looked at the ground, contemplating his words.

'If you truly serve the realm as I do, I beg you… let us not act uncivilised. Tell your men to stand down. Then come, sit, and show to me what I have done wrong for our country. Present to me the shortcomings of my methods. I am most certain that we may find the cause of our misunderstanding and your skewed perception of my actions. However, do not, not even for _one second_ , believe that this may be the lead to reconciliation. Only the dead forget, only the guiltless forgive, and I have done many a cruel task in the name of progress.'

Once again, Revach took a breath. Only this time, Ironwood interrupted.

'Oh? I have a chance to speak? And how will you receive my words?'

'This conversation will be the final guidance I receive from an old friend – the one who watched as I grew to become the man I am today – and I will sculpt my actions accordingly. How about this… Leon Ironwood, once you call off your troops, let us cast aside our petty differences in ideology and I will have you tell me. Tell me how you intend to forge the ideal tomorrow.'


	13. Proud Man's Contumely

**The Great War of Remnant**

Chapter 12: Proud Man's Contumely

It was difficult to break the silence. Williams and Ironwood sat on one side of the interrogation table, their hands chained down to a metal ring set into the ground while Revach, Black and Schnee were on the other. Fang and Rackon were standing and resting against a wall, present to gain a better understanding of the Mantle political climate for their own purposes. Revach could only stare at his crossed fingers as he waited for someone to speak.

The coup was finally at an end. Ironwood had used the radio to tell his remaining troops to stand down and Revach granted him a final audience with what was left of the Council. Williams was captured two days later trying to leave through immigration with falsified papers. The Huntsmen guarded the eastern wall while Schnee and a group of engineers repaired it, careful to add additional defences to the sewer system. And now, the broken Council was assembled once more, with opposite sides opposing each other.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for each other. Ironwood was relaxed, paying no attention to the chains around neither his wrists nor his feet, but Judith continued to fidget with hers, not used to the chafing. Black continued to gaze at a point slightly above Ironwood and Williams. Schnee was repeatedly running his fingers through his hair. Revach noticed that his own leg was twitching, and tried to stop it, but the built up tension seeped into his muscles making him restless.

It was Black who cut through the stillness, directing his question at Ironwood.

'…Do you remember the days when we took charge of the conquest of Vacuo?'

'I do, I do… Those were the good old days. You were like a son back then, a little kid who had been given so much power and didn't know what to do with it.'

'Perhaps I was.'

'And now a tyrant sits in front of me.'

'How? Where did I go wrong?'

'To yourself, I don't think you'll realise what you've done wrong; what I consider as "wrong" might be different to yours and there is the danger of autocratic power. Each man has their own morals and interpretation of how to protect the world. Yours differed with mine in a way a conversation wouldn't be able to change.'

'Oh, the irony. So many lives… lost. Lost to fuel our individual, isolated visions of a better and safer world. We were supposed to keep them safe! What have we done? Ironwood… I'm afraid there's no way for us to accept you anymore. I hope you can understand.'

'I do better than understand. To me, you are a tyrant. And what a tyrant wants more than anything is power. To maintain that power, he must maintain peace. But what an oppressive peace you will create…'

'I will create a world where humans are safe.'

'Your world will crush emotions. And for me, the freedom to think and feel is one of the charms of being alive.'

Williams chimed in here.

'You just don't get it, do you Black? What you and Revach are gonna create is a world where people are scared of you. That'll just get more Grimm. You can't go around checking what everyone's thinking. I mean, it's not like you can just get into someone's head and tell them how to think.'

Schnee looked at Williams. The icy glare in his eyes caused her to recoil. Then, his gaze softened slightly and he shook his head before speaking in a soft voice.

'I've made some progress into that field, Williams.'

'…What did you say?'

'My Semblance… is telepathy. I can read a person's current emotions and very specific, concentrated thoughts. It only works if I'm in contact with that person though. That is the basis for my research. From there, I am hoping to develop methods to control emotions, induce happiness, joy and other positive emotions while erasing negative ones. I also hope, in time, to be able to create machines which can detect the absence of positive emotions.'

There was a shocked moment of silence. Ironwood looked far more perturbed than the start of the conversation, his eyes flickering between Black, Revach and Schnee. He slowly began to speak, hesitating slightly as if he didn't want the truth to be confirmed.

'I thought your Semblance was glyphs. Don't the Schnee family have hereditary Semblances?'

'I married into the family, but I changed my name to Schnee because it made more sense to adopt the name of a well-known and respected family.'

There was another silence after this pronouncement. It dawned on Revach how manipulative Schnee's Semblance could be, and how much power it gave him through a simple handshake. Making a mental note to start wearing indoor gloves, Revach finally joined the conversation.

'So… I think it's time to get to the reason why we're here. I promised Ironwood that we would have a conversation regarding the management of Mantle if he called off the coup. He has, and I don't intend to break my side of the bargain. What is it that you wanted to speak about, Ironwood?'

It took Ironwood several moments to compose his thoughts. The few seconds of silence stretched into an eternity as the Council waited with pent up breath for Ironwood to being speaking. The only sound was the soft clinking of chains as Williams shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

'Well, first things first… I came here to justify my actions to you all. I also want to know how the remaining members of the Council see the world, and we'll go from there.'

Black spoke. 'Then begin Ironwood. We await your explanations and your questions.'

'Black, it would be nice if you talked more normally.'

'I would appreciate it if you didn't waste our time.'

'Alright then… It should be obvious that this coup was based on the difference of ideology. However, it was not whether the Council was communist, capitalist, democratic, liberal or any other form of political or economic variation, rather, it was because of how oppressive an authoritarian regime could be, and the dangers of an autocratic system. Although I'm not perfect, I'd like to believe that I'm a reasonable and forward thinker. However, I cannot tolerate your new reforms… Removing the right for expressionism? Do you understand what a precedent like that will allow? You can to create countless other statutes for "regulating emotions" on the basis of protecting the population. And not just "you can", but "you will". I cannot allow the artificial control of emotions. I don't know what kind of future you want to build, but that seems rather dystopic to me; a future where people's emotions are somehow regulated by Schnee and his technology and persecuted for acting with free will. And here is the key word, and the key difference of our ideologies. I want to build societies in Mantle which can help themselves, while you remove all self-awareness and _agency_ from the population in an attempt to make them undetectable to the Grimm. You're like an over-protective father making all the decisions for your beloved children who don't need your protection or your attention. We shouldn't be hiding from the Grimm; we should be fighting them. Do you know what the people want? No. Of course not. When was the last time you walked out onto the street and had a conversation with a stranger? The man who sells you your coffee, do you know what he wants? Do you know-'

Black cut through Ironwood's rant like a hot knife through butter.

'In the end, what you're saying is that "the people know how to protect themselves", correct? But don't you think that your evidence is far too anecdotal? One man's death is a tragedy, and yet a million is a statistic.'

Ironwood slammed his chained hands onto the table, and a loud thud reverberated through the room. 'If you are capable of treating a million deaths as a statistic, you are not fit to lead this great Kingdom.'

'Cut the ad hominem.'

'The man I once knew couldn't bear with losing one soldier! What have you become?'

'A man who learns. A man who survives. A man who will elevate mankind to greater heights.'

'No, you're a man addicted to power, and that self-serving power will destroy Mantle.'

Revach spoke here, waving his hand dismissively at Ironwood.

'Those who are smarter, more ambitious and more able to cope with the stress of ruling _should_ be the ones at the top making the important decisions, no? After all, we are here to regulate Mantle and protect the citizens, are we not?'

'That's a dangerous way of thinking, Emory.'

'And how so?'

'I don't know what goals or visions you have for your future. But if there's one thing that people will always fight for, it's their freedom. The freedom of speech, thought, emotions and other such actions which are natural to mankind will always remain with them, no matter how hard you try to crush it out of existence. The unspoken rule of governing is that those in power should always be at the mercy of the people. As a Kingdom and as a Council we have made progress towards education, production of Dust and various social benefits. I do not deny the facts as they are presented. However, don't you think it's time to abandon this pseudo-autocracy and move into a more democratic system? We're not at war anymore, for the Creator's sake. Our little border disputes in Vacuo are over now and there's no point maintaining such a system when our need for resources is less than our production.'

Williams spoke as well, adding to Ironwood's argument.

'What Leon says is true. Economically, we would do far better to allow a capitalist system, or at least a system which allows for competition. Absolute authority and the state being the centre of all imports and exports prevents the private negotiations that companies will have with each other. When the state moderates international trade out of Mantle, there is no chance for undercutting a competitor as there are no competitors. The reason I convinced Ironwood to pursue the coup was because Black has no idea on how much the ban on expressionism affects trade with Mistral. With those laws, he'll drive the Mantle economy into the ground… Thirty-five percent of all foodstuffs come from there, goddamit! If we as a state suddenly reject one of their major exports, how do you think they'll feel towards us? Not only that, but expanding territory to Northern Anima? And then applying the ban on expressionism there, Revach? Are you insane? Or are you just blinded by your little dream of saving the world from Grimm?'

'There's no point attacking what's already been done, Williams. If the ban were to cause such a problem, I'm sure Celes wouldn't have accepted my terms.'

Fang shuffled his feet in the corner of the room. Everyone looked at him. Revach thought the Faunus looked a little uncomfortable appearing in front of the entire Council but he spoke without pause.

'Erisar planned to prevent the agreement for the ban on expressionism. He believed that it could have been used by Vale as a casus belli for war. The reason I allowed it to pass was-'

Ironwood interrupted. 'So the boy was called Erisar, was he? Well, that boy was right. With our presence in both Vytal and Anima, it could be seen as Mantle attempting to expand its borders, or even conquer Remnant. Vale would very much be opposed to one Kingdom gaining power for itself, especially since we've set up that agreement with Mistral. But the problem still remains. These bans on emotions and agency will eventually cause Vale to go to war with us or cause our own citizens to revolt against us. But worry not; I'm sure Revach has already gotten a taste for stopping civil wars by massacring, intimidating and then falsely reconciling the masses.'

Schnee was the next one to speak.

'Ironwood, weren't we gathered here to listen to your reasons for the coup? I fear this interrogation has devolved into a regular Council meet.'

Before Ironwood could reply, Black spoke up.

'I rather like this atmosphere. Since Ironwood and Williams no longer have to conceal their true intentions for fear of persecution, their honesty has allowed me more insight to how dissidents will react. The two of you serve the Kingdom, don't you? Then use this as your last chance to improve it.'

Ironwood coughed to clear his throat. Then, he resumed his tirade, his voice loud and unwavering.

'I've covered the legal, ethical and economic issues. I hope you will all remember what I've said so far. Moving on, there's also a problem with the way Revach is handling his foreign relations. I mean, what is this nonsense with obtaining land in Anima? I don't care how much Dust there is, we can't be aggravating our only real ally. As long as Mistral and Mantle have Vale as a common enemy, we might be able to win. Even if Vale cuts off trade, we can still survive if Mistral supports us with their agriculture. Alienating Mistral is one of the worst decisions you could've possibly made, Revach, and for what? Giving Vale another reason to wage war on us with the implementation of your new dumb policies? I thought you were meant to be intelligent, but sometimes, I really don't get what's going through that tiny round head of yours.'

Revach smiled softly as Ironwood finished and after rubbing his hands together slowly, he replied in a slow and deliberate manner, his voice full of zeal.

'I'm guessing you also want to hear my thoughts? Alrighty, then. I have a vision for our future…'

Revach leaned closer to the two belligerents as he spoke.

'It's a place where man has developed the perfect weapon for fighting against the Grimm: the ability to cleanse themselves of negative emotions, and thus, an unbeatable invisibility. Once we have no more fear for the Grimm, we can begin indulging ourselves in positive emotions, and then reintroduce art, literature, film and other forms of expressionism. In this way, people will only produce texts with positive emotions. Someone can't understand fear if they've never experienced it, and thus, they wouldn't be able to produce any works which induce fear. We can end this cycle of negative emotions, but for that to occur, we need to rub the slate of the human mind blank so we may remodel it to be more suitable. But the citizens of Mantle shouldn't be the only ones receiving this boon… I will present my solution to all mankind within Remnant. I will spread my ideals to every corner of this world so I can keep everyone safe. Isn't safety all that matters? Mankind will rise into a form we've never seen before, and become ascended… won't this be beautiful, Ironwood?'

Revach smiled even wider as Ironwood sat there, dumbstruck. Unknown to Revach, Ironwood was not stunned at the daring or brilliance of his plans, but the utter stupidity of them. Even Schnee's idea of controlling emotions through technology made more sense than Revach's spiritual and emotional cleansing shenanigans. Sighing in defeat at the absurdity of it all, Ironwood leaned back on his chair and looked at the ceiling. Fang was the next one to speak.

'Revach, I must warn you now, if you attempt to start a war for the purpose of cleansing emotions from people, I don't think General Branwen will look too kindly on it. I know we Huntsmen are meant to be neutral, but what you're doing comes under non-ethical principle for war, so I don't really think it's a good idea.'

'Will you fight against me, Fang?'

'If I must, I will.'

'Why don't you just kill me right now?'

'Because you haven't done anything wrong just yet. We're not allowed to do prevention; we can only step in once something goes wrong.'

Judith leaned over her bound hands to rub her eyes. Then, she kicked back onto her chair with a grunt and spoke to Black.

'In a way, I'm glad that I going to miss all this mess. Just imagining it will probably make my hair fall out. I hope the execution isn't going to be too painful. Can we get the injection, Black?'

'Don't you think you're taking the last few days of your life too lightly, Williams?'

'Aww, James, don't go kiddin' yourself. I'll have you know that I'm _deeply_ wounded that I didn't even get to see the Old Riverton Academy or any parts of the Unknown Continent. You know, when I was a kid, I used to always dream of being a Huntress… it was just so… romantic.'

* * *

It had been two days since the meeting in the interrogation room. James Black strode down a corridor, passing the cells lining each side with two prison guards. Stopping before cell N-037, Black inserted the key, knocked on the cell door and then turned the handle and the lock simultaneously.

In the cell sat an old man. If Black had to use one word to describe Leon Ironwood, it would be "spent". The two days prior to his execution, Ironwood had talked to Black in private about various random topics from the conquest of Vacuo to where the best coffee could be found. Both of them avoided topics relating to matters of state. It was comforting for Black to speak to the old man like a father once more, but it saddened him to see how damaging a difference in ideology could be.

As Black entered the cell, Ironwood rose to his feet gracefully. Black handed him a set of clothes for the execution, and stepped outside. A minute later, Ironwood knocked on the door, and Black opened it once more. Stepping outside, Leon combed his thin, white hair with his fingers and took the lead in walking towards the execution room. Black followed.

'You know the way?'

'Of course I do, James. Every soldier sentenced to death by me was lead to the execution chamber by me. I looked every one of them in the eye and asked them whether they thought they deserved to die. Throughout my career, only one of them denied. I mean, for the men I've sentenced to death, I've always thought that they deserved one last moment to talk to me, and if I were to execute them, I would look them in the eye until their final moments.'

'Well, it really shows the loyalty and calibre of the troops you've trained.'

'If there's one thing to learn from me, James, it's the ability to inspire loyalty. Without a right hand man, you'll find it far more difficult to achieve your goals.'

'Thank you, Leon.'

The four men continued their leisurely pace towards the execution chamber. Leon took a left, a right, and then another right. Black could only follow, but didn't dare to ask Leon to walk any slower. As they entered into the control room, Leon turned to Black.

'Look, James, we didn't use to butt heads so much. I appreciate what you've done for Mantle, and I can only hope, once I'm gone, that you won't be the one to bring our Kingdom down. We've both fought for what we think is right, and you've won. But I guess what's important is not if we succeed or fail, but whether we've tried to achieve our goals or not. Keep going, Black. Keep our people safe. I've written a little something for you while I was in my cell… I hope you can always remember this while you're still the Chairman.'

Then, Leon turned left and walked into the execution chamber. Three men wearing surgical masks awaited him. Black watched through the glass as Leon was strapped down onto the medical bed. A needle was placed above his left arm. As Black watched, Leon looked at him and their eyes locked. Leon smiled a tired smile and Black could feel tears filling his eyes, his vision blurring. Then, they cascaded down his cheeks. Looking down, he took several moments to wipe them away, and then several more to stem the tears, and by the time he looked back up, Ironwood lay there peacefully, his eyes empty. Opening the folded piece of paper, Black began to read.

 _We are Humans. Our time in the universe  
Is but a glimpse. To it, we are as  
Passing as an evening sunset, as  
Ephemeral as the morning dew_

 _Every toll of the bell marks another  
Hour; another fragment of our short lives.  
For every moment lost, and every toll,  
It tolls for thee._

 _To what ends do we struggle with life?  
Most labour purely for achievement.  
The vain, for wealth. Even fewer strive for legacy.  
And yet only our legacy is woven into time._

 _We are Humans. We can be better,  
As architects, as progressives, as examples,  
And help our people. I am Human  
For I am involved in Mankind,_

 _And I will leave to pass along a better tomorrow._

 _Yours truly,_

 _General Leon Ironwood_

* * *

 **Thank you for reading the Intro/Coup D'etat Arc of this story! I'll probably be doing a short interlude to lead into the next arc (which may or may not be on hiatus due to me being in the last year of highschool). I'm l** **ooking forward to continuing my writing and I think I've finally gotten into the mindset and voice of the major characters, so that should improve the quality and the flow.**

 **One more thing: the poem at the end was heavily inspired by No Man is an Island by John Donne**

 **I hope you have a great day,**

 **-J**


	14. -Interlude- Tea for Two

**The Great War of Remnant**

Interlude: Tea for Two

Welcome, dear Ozpin! Yes, I know why you're here, but no, I cannot allow you pass into the Abyss quite yet… The Great War has elapsed, but humanity is still in peril. The anaesthetic known as peace is a powerful one, and I, as the Creator, require a person to lead the civilisations through this age of complacency. I still have use for you, dear Ozpin, for you are the one to oppose my brother's creation. Ironic, isn't it? A brother who revels in destruction _creates_ another entity to do the same.

Why don't we have seat… the endless pacing is quite disorientating for me. I will never understand how you humans… "walk and talk". So, what would you like to drink? Ah, how very traditionalist of you. Yes, I will have some tea prepared. How about lemon and ginger for today; we'll be discussing this topic for many more hours, and this way, we won't have to worry about the taste becoming too strong.

Allow me to quickly summarise what I have told you so far. The Huntsmen of your day and age are still removed from political activity. The key players are the strongest Huntsmen, Fang, Erisar, Katrina and Rackon, and the task of those four is currently to protect the Maidens, and prevent the misuse of their powers. Mantle and Mistral were beginning to set up tepid relations, but the expansion of Mantle territory into Mistral alarmed several members of the Council who believe that the colonialist and authoritarian rule by Black will cause Mantle's downfall. They attempt a coup, but ultimately fail…

When you're reborn into the world of Remnant, I will need you to change this. An independent organisation of such power as Riverton is liable to take sides in a conflict no matter their code. You will need to establish an Academy for training Huntsmen and Huntresses in each Kingdom to prevent further, unjustified war and to even the balance of power.

Oh did you mention something, dear Ozpin? I'm sorry; I wasn't paying attention. Could you repeat it?

Ah yes, I did indeed gloss over rising and heightened tensions between the Kingdoms, dear Ozpin, and your question is highly meaningful. Yes, it would do you well to understand the cause… If you don't mind, we'll follow Morcos, Celes and the young Prince of Vale whom I have not yet introduced eight years before our current stage and players. Yes, I know that Morcos has already passed into the Abyss, but he was an interesting personality during the conquest; why else would I mention a side character only to kill them? These three all played a vital role in the initial occupation of Vacuo and the subsequent proxy wars fought there for territory, minerals and Dust.

But before we delve into that, it would be wise for us to take a glimpse at the politics, societies and values of the Kingdoms eight years ago. After all, one of your few shortcomings is your lack of political knowledge and involvement. You lived through the conquest, and yet, by removing yourself from politics, you knew not of the consequences which caused so many ripples in the relations between the Kingdoms. So let's begin.

Although Vale was a feudal system, they were beginning to establish a parliament and transition into a democracy. The King of Vale at the time, Imotus Andre, was a forward thinker, establishing limits on the King's power to prevent one person from destroying the country. This was mainly done due to his son, Prince Titus Andre II, being hot-headed and very emotional. The society of Vale followed their King, and were believers of human rights, thus looking down on Mantle and Mistral for exploiting the Faunus and Vacuo slaves for their own purposes. Also, because of how Vacuo and Vale shared borders, trade would be far more profitable than annexation. This was because long sea voyages were often the targets of ancient Grimm, while established trade routes over land only attract beowolves, boarbatusks and other such nuisances.

Mistral was ruled by Emperor Augustus Godfroy, both during the Conquest of Vacuo and throughout the Great War. They were and still are essentially an oligarchy, with a philosopher-king at its head. Notably, the conquest marked Celes' rise to prominence. Mistral prides themselves on history, art, literature and other such humanitarian studies, but they were technologically behind. Thus, Mistral needed Dust, and at a cheap price.

And Mantle was a technologically advanced and pseudo-authoritarian state focused on expanding its borders to become self-sufficient. Notably, Mantle needed to keep up with its own Dust output so the newly-ascended Chairman, Black, took matters into his own hands and ordered the enslaving of former Vacuo citizens and Faunus for work in the Dust mines during the conquest. Also, since foodstuffs were difficult to produce in a cold, harsh environment like Solitos, the expansion into Vacuo aided their self-sufficiency.

So now, dear Ozpin, you can see why all three countries had their own interests during the Conquest of Vacuo. Vale wanted to trade with Vacuo and uphold their human rights and values across Remnant, Mantle needed food, territory and Dust to maintain their Kingdom, while Mistral required Dust to further their military capacity. This meaningless and petty squabble turned into several proxy wars, and the increase of tensions between the Kingdoms which we will discuss now…

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 **Enjoy this little teaser while I spend my next month and a half working for my next set of exams. This fanfic will be stalling out until then.**

 **-J**


	15. Extremos Pudeat Rediisse

**The First Great War: A Seminal Tragedy**

Chapter 13: Extremos Pudeat Rediisse

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 _This is a re-upload, an error page kept popping up. IDK what's going on: the chapters have updated on the "manage stories" page but not up on the preview, and the last update still says April 24._

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Winter never arrived suddenly. It always came with a gradual decline of evening temperature, slightly shorter days, occasional rain here and there mixed in with sporadic sunshine, and sometimes, the temperature even rose to give the young Celes an impression that perhaps winter would be warmer this year round. But no matter how much the cold was stalled, it always crept in, and the moments of warmth were like signs of false recovery in a dying patient whom death has already passed its sentence.

 _Extremos Pudeat Rediisse…_

Her family motto had always been a stern one. In Mistral, the Emperor and the most prominent Houses ruled, just as an oligarchy would. To make it more legitimate, a Senate was formed, but in reality the major, wealthy houses form their own factions whom they protect, and in return, the factions support their patron with votes in the Senate. Although lien wasn't the only deciding factor on the rulers of Mistral, there was a definitely strong correlation between the wealthy and the ones with influence. Come now, if the ruling class were not corrupt, how would they stay in power?

 _Extremos Pudeat Rediisse…_

Whether it was outside of the family or an internal struggle, Celes was raised with a constant sense of competition and immediacy. _Let them be ashamed to come last_. As the only girl in a family of five children, she should have been pushed off to wed the son of some influential House, or even better, a son of the Emperor himself. To avoid this, Celes was pressured to excel at every subject she studied, and when she was eighteen, she was offered a position at the department of foreign affairs.

 _Extremos Pudeat Rediisse…_

She was determined to succeed. She would rise within the department and live up to her family name. She could not be the one to dishonour her parents, and ruin the influence they had carefully built up over the decades. The Conquest of Vacuo was the perfect chance for her to prove her worth, hone her skills, see the outside world, and finally, establish herself within the hierarchy of Mistral. And as a woman, the task would be even more monumental.

'Celes! Over here!'

The image of returning with achievements from the Conquest vanished within her mind as she turned to face the approaching voice. A man with golden hair was waving to her, wearing a matching set of robes, and over it all was a rustic, orange cloak.

'Han! I didn't see you.'

Han Xiao Long was also relatively new to the department, and the Han family were known specifically for their fall from grace with the Emperor. Mistral was comprised of three factions, each from a different descent, and each with a different nomenclature. Han's "given name" or his "first name" is technically, Xiao Long, which incidentally meant "little dragon", but everyone simply knew him as Han. Despite his family's position, Celes had taken an immediate liking to the man, either because of his cheeriness, morals or… some other reason, which were all traits that Celes had never seen before in her family. The only aspect she frowned upon was his lack of ambition. He was a little too down to earth, happy-go-lucky, and it was a stark contrast to her rigorous upbringing.

'How 'bout some ramen for lunch? Wanna join me?'

'Sure. It's not like I'm full of lien, though, so you can shout me.'

'Aww, aren't you meant to shout _me_? I mean, don't you come from some super rich family?'

'In case you haven't noticed yet, I rolled the dice into the wrong gender.'

'Haha, your House is so old school.'

'Han, if you mention my fam-'

Han quickly cut her off as her eyes began to narrow. 'Hey, I found this new place, the foods pretty good and it's still quite cheap. Want me to show you?'

'…All right.' Celes was slightly mollified by the quick change of subject, but she still brooded on the unfairness of it all. Her two elder brothers were far less hardworking, but just by winning the lottery of birth, received almost three times the amount of monthly lien from their parents. Their tendency to indulge themselves as well as the usual corrupt behaviour was disregarded due to their inherent status. No wonder Mistral was stagnating; a simple look at her brothers told her that much. By the time she stopped contemplating, they had already reached the food square: an open-air courtyard with small stalls set up randomly inside it.

'Celes, I mean, don't get me wrong, I really like you and your work, but… man, you gotta stop looking so ominous, people can tell, y'know? If you were in the middle of a negotiation and dropped your guard like that, people can tell.'

Celes was about to snap back but stopped herself. She knew that Han cared for her and his criticism wasn't malicious or arrogant, unlike some of her other colleagues.

'I think I can afford to let my guard down around you.'

Han was silent for a brief moment. Celes looked at him, but he was facing the other way on the pretence of looking around.

'Over there!' He pointed to a stall in the corner. It looked just like any other one man stall, with a small roof, locked wheels, stools and a chef hurrying around cooking. As they drew closer, Celes couldn't remember ever seeing this store before; her earliest days of leaving high school consisted for her running around the food square trying to find the cheapest lunch and remembering the places where there were weekly value meals. Luckily, her name alone carried her to an interview with the department of foreign affairs, and since then, she loved to come back to the food square every so often and watch teens and university students fiddling with lien.

As they approached, there was a rich aroma of seafood. They took the last two unoccupied seats as the chef scurried over. Han greeted the man.

'Hello, Fu. I'll have your special seafood one, with extra crab and scallops please. How 'bout you?'

'Um, what is there?' Celes looked down at the menu laminated into the table.

'I'd recommend the same one as me.'

'Sure.'

'Then, Fu, we'll make that two servings. Thanks!'

Han slid over eighteen lien and the chef scooped it up. Celes looked dumbstruck. Han said it was meant to be cheap. She sighed, and began to rummage in her wallet when Han playfully punched her on the shoulder.

'I shouted you.'

'Oh… thanks. I meant it as a joke, you know. Now I'll have to take you out for lunch as well.'

'I'll take you up on that. When I'm not overloaded with paperwork, which is like, never.'

The two of them chatted about how lazy and inconsiderate their boss was until the meal arrived, before turning their conversation to more serious matters.

'So Han… what do you think about the Conquest? Actually, how do you think it will go, and what roles will we play?'

'Hmm?'

'I was saying, what do- Oh for the Creator's sake, you're playing for time, weren't you? You got me.'

Han pondered over his unstarted bowl of ramen. Celes picked up a fork (she hated chopsticks) and slurped up some noodles.

'I-'

'Mmm, this is good. Oh sorry, you were saying?'

'Well, before I answer, did you apply to go?'

Celes answered after she finished her mouthful of noodles.

'Yes, I did.'

'It's a chance to prove yourself, yes?'

'And get a higher position.'

'Did you ever consider that you might screw it up?'

'Of course I have, but the world isn't as black and white as succeeding or failing. I'll always come up on rough patches and smoother ones. It's a matter of minimising damage while getting the best results I can on the negotiating table. And besides, there's no room for failure otherwise my family might actually disown me.'

While Celes was answering, Han dug into his own noodles. When she finished, Han looked back up at her and sighed slightly.

'You're always looking at your position and your family… Have you ever considered what would make you happy, Celes?'

'I don't want to talk about that right now. So, back on track, how do you think the Conquest is going to go?'

Han pondered for a moment, as if trying to find the best way to express his opinion. Then, he began his analysis.

'Well, let's split it up a little by time frames: pre-conquest, mid-conquest and post-conquest. In the pre-conquest stages, I think that we'll be fine, with not much to do. The bill for declaring war will definitely pass because there's so much to gain and not much to lose. Vacuo is a pretty regressive and complacent Kingdom, to the point where I'd hesitate in labelling it a Kingdom. We'll meet with the dignitaries of the other Kingdoms and make a good first impression.

During the conquest, I see some troubles arising. Funnily enough, we probably still won't get much to do, and by "we" I mean the department. Most of the troubles will probably be military related and stuff like logistics. We'll probably be just splitting up the pie based on how well each military did. I think there'll be some arguing but we should all come to a consensus. I mean, as much as we try to bend results, the Mistral army will be the ones _getting_ the results. If they do a bad job, we lose our influence on the negotiating table.

The biggest problem in my eyes is what comes after the conquest. Each Kingdom will obviously be annexing a part of Vacuo, and we'll all share borders there as well. What if in the land that's been allocated, we suddenly discover a huge vein of Dust? Will Mantle or Vale be jealous enough to wage another war? You have to put into consideration that this war won't harm the civilians of either Kingdom because it's not exactly direct warfare. I see a lot of tensions coming up between Vale and Mantle because of this. I mean, you know how Mantle treats Faunus. They also have a form of "government debt" is pretty much slavery. Vale's gotta get _pissed_ when Mantle takes some place over, and then enslaves the entire population. We're kinda like the bystander in this, so it won't affect us as much, but I think we've still gotta take a side. But the biggest part we're going to play is stopping them from warring with each other after the Conquest and stop them from burning Vacuo to the ground. What do you think, Celes?'

As Han finished, he returned to his ramen. Celes was beginning to finish her portion, but ate slowly, and in silence, so she could mull over Han's points. Then, she ordered a drink and waited for Han to finish before replying to his question.

'I mostly agree with the way you've structured the three stages, only I believe there will be a difference in the early conquest and late conquest. At the same time, I disagree that the post-conquest stage will be the most important. Don't you think your analysis is a little… too naïve? I mean, we can't just stop a war between Mantle and Vale; if it occurs, then so be it. Of course, we'll do our best to prevent a war until waging a war becomes far more profitable for Mistral. I guess what I'm really trying to say is that we shouldn't go out of our way in preventing war if the possible repercussions are detrimental to our country.

Here's what I believe about the early stages of the Conquest. Each army will move into Vacuo, and will attempt to… cover as much ground as they can. This initial invasion will undoubtedly mark the boundaries our three Kingdoms will share post annexation. There will be little negotiation in this stage, as it will be, and forgive my analogy, a street fight. We won't have the chance to sit at the table as events will be progressing at a speed where deliberations are too slow.

So I actually believe that the most important stage which we'll be involved in is the late stages of the war. At that point, we'll be carving out our rewards and our land. It's important to put our Kingdom's benefit first, and if we do well at negotiations, I doubt there will be any more trouble. Also, the Emperor is likely to recognise our achievements if we manage to snatch up a large, useful part of Vacuo which pretty much guarantees our future work.

I think you have to understand, Han, that our work should benefit the Kingdom. As an inherent factor, our work will also benefit ourselves. We don't work for Mantle, Vale, or Vacuo. We're not here to protect Remnant. We're here to protect our Kingdom's assets, influence and political interests, and by doing that, we gain the achievements and recognition in the Senate.'

There was a silence after her pronouncement. Han looked uncomfortably at her, and murmured 'Always the ambitious patriot, huh.'

'And you're lacking ambition, don't you think?' As Celes said this, she got up from the stool and pushed her bowl towards the counter. 'C'mon, it's time to go tackle some more paperwork.'

'Yeah, let's. Well, if we have each other, I guess that balances things out.'

'Always the diplomat.'

'I just can't stand attacking people because they have a different point of view.'

'How are you ever going to be negotiating then?'

'There's a difference between not backing down from my own points compared to attacking people for theirs. For me, everyone's entitled to their own way of seeing things.'

'How noble,' muttered Celes, 'but just make sure to get some good results at Vacuo. It's the only way some unassuming humanist like you will ever get a raise.'

* * *

Fucking flatterers. And sycophants. Those too. A day of functions was enough make the young Titus punch someone if it wasn't for his position as the Prince of Vale. Gently closing the thick, oak door to his personal quarters, he strolled in, picked up a saucer lying on his work table and threw it like a frisbee. It hit the opposite wall but didn't shatter. After smashing up his entire desk in a fit of rage several years ago, he had replaced everything with more durable alternatives. Bouncing off the wall, the rubber disk hit the floor and rolled back towards him.

'FUCK.'

Thing's not breaking just didn't give him the same satisfaction. Pacing around the room, Titus picked up a ball of specially ordered spongy polyester, and focusing the aura in his hand, he crushed it. The ball crumbled, and bits of white plastic drifted to the ground like snow. He walked slowly to his bed and, as he slumped down, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Titus took a few moments to sweep up the particles of polyester on the ground and dumped them in the bin. There was another series of knocks. Putting down the dustpan and sweeper, Titus smoothed down the front of his suit and said in a commanding tone 'Enter'.

A servant opened the door. Without missing a beat, he relayed his message.

'Your father is requesting your attendance for a meeting discussing the invasion of Vacuo. I am here to escort you to the room. Furthermore, please don't overdress, this is an internal meeting.'

There was a flicker of irritation within Titus. In court, overdressing shouldn't be a thing. He changed out his bowtie to a black necktie to match his suit, and followed the servant out of his room. They strolled through high-ceilinged hallways with paintings on the walls, onto a walkway overhanging the mountainside, then back indoors, up a wide flight of stairs with a purple carpet and finally into his father's study. The room was large and circular, and within it stood four people around a planning table on which a map of Vacuo was spread. On it stood models: green for Vale, white for Mantle, blue for Mistral and brown for Vacuo.

'Finally, Titus, you're here.'

His father, Imotus Andre, was the one to greet him. Although he was the King of Vale, he had been slowly distributing his powers, signing documents which limited them and also establishing a parliament where new laws must go through. Titus wasn't a fool; he knew his father didn't trust him with running the Kingdom and those laws set the groundwork for a parliamentary democracy. Now, his former advisors were the ministers, and standing next around the table was the Minister for War, the Minister for Coin and the Minister for Information.

'This is about the Conquest, yes?'

'Yes, indeed it is', the Minister for Coin murmured as he stroked his beard, 'Both Mistral and Mantle have been making some disturbing movements. You see, this "conquest" has been blown extremely out of proportion. The original plan was to intimidate the Vacks into allowing us to mine Dust in their Kingdom. However, it would seem that Mantle and Mistral have rather different plans – they intend to annex and establish colonies in Vacuo.'

The Minister for Information was the one to respond. 'Like I said, it would have been much better for the council to _not_ have divulged any information about the discovery of a new Kingdom, if they are even advanced enough to be called a Kingdom. We could have focused on establishing relations with a new country, and potentially have adopted them as a vassal state in complete secrecy. Instead, we're caught up in a race to obtain a piece of the pie.'

'Come now, there's no use in complaining in what's already happened. We're here to discuss policies based on merit, not playing I-told-you-so.' The Minister for War took off his pince-nez and massaged the bridge of his nose before resuming. 'We cannot stop Mistral or Mantle from invading or colonising Vacuo. We are here to decide whether we will participate in their joint scheme.'

'And that is why you're here, son.' Imotus began arranging the green figures along the border of Vale as he spoke. 'Currently, this council is tied in our vote on whether to invade or not. We require a vote to break the tie. Seeing as you will be the future holder of the crown, my elected War Council and I have agreed for you to be the one who casts the final vote. Either way, we'll be deploying troops, as the threat of Mistral and Mantle presence next to our borders must be given proper attention to. If we choose not to invade, the question becomes… how far do we deploy our troops, and, if we were to engage in battle, whether we should fight on our border to be legally correct, or fight over the no man's land of Vacuo to protect our citizens.'

Titus spoke without hesitation.

'We should invade. We have no reason not to.'

The drawn-out silence in the room was so tangible that Titus could feel a curtain being draped over him, muffling his senses and restricting his breathing. Imotus looked over at the three Ministers in turn, his gaze slightly downcast, and then spoke to the Minister for Information.

'I truly believed-'

'Your Majesty, this isn't the time. The vote has been cast. We must begin our preparations. The Minster for War and the Minister for Coin have much to do, and so do I. We can save our discussion for those inconsequential party conversations down the road. Prince Titus, a word if you may.'

The Minister for Information gesticulated at the door to the negotiation chamber, his normally calm voice carrying a hint of vehemence. Following the short, upright gentleman known as the Minister for Information, Titus entered the room and closed the door behind him.

The Minister was the same, unnoticeable man Titus had always known since his first day in court as a child. The same watered smile, the same briskness of the fingers, the same homemade cardigan under his cotton suit, the same polished brogue shoes, the same air of paternal love which Titus found so amusing. The detachment from his work, the same indifference. The same lack of banal discourse.

The negotiation room was arranged differently today. Instead of the usual large, circular table surrounded by swivel chairs, there was a small coffee table with two comfortable armchairs. On it was a teapot, two cups on saucers, and an old, electric kettle just now rising to a boil. The Minister sat down in one, and gestured for Titus to take a seat as well.

'You must be tired, Prince Titus; the function was not to your taste, as I can tell.' The Minister spoke in the same soft but unrecognisable accent. 'Do take a seat.' As he said this, the Minister poured the boiling water from the kettle into the teapot. 'Do you find it cold? The chill of winter takes some time before it completely recedes.'

'I'm sure you didn't bring me in here to talk about the weather.' Titus stood next to the coffee table and looked down on the Minister. 'I'm a busy person.'

The Minister lowered the kettle back onto the table and looked at Titus with a wry smile. It was the smile of a person who understood something Titus did not, and that irritated Titus.

'Please take a seat.'

Titus continued to stand, and the Minister sighed.

'Titus, we both have more important matters to attend to after this conversation. I would appreciate it if you would have a seat.'

After a few more moments, Titus acquiesced. The Minister put three sugar cubes in Titus' cup. Titus was about to complain when the Minister pre-empted him and said 'most men drink this kind of tea with a lot of sugar. It's very strong, even when it's not fully steeped.'

Picking up the teapot with the already steeped tea, the Minister poured a cup for both of them. However, Titus noticed that the Minister had not put any sugar into his own cup.

'What did you think of your father leaving the decision to you?'

'And why should I tell you?'

'Ah, Titus. Please, we work on the same side. Once you take the crown, I need to know exactly how you think, otherwise, I cannot cover for your flaws. Your father and I had the same conversation when he was a child.'

'So you think I'm a child?'

'For someone of my age and experience, you might very well be. But age does not constitute intellect nor wisdom. As a person, yes, you are a child. So, please answer my question. What did you think of your father when he left the decision to you?'

'…Well… I thought I deserved to be making an important decision.'

'Then what do you think his aims were?'

'His aims?'

'What… do you think your father wished to accomplish by letting you make the decision?'

Titus looked around the room. The large, circular table which normally filled it was nowhere to be seen, and he didn't even know it could be moved out of the negotiation chamber. It must have taken an enormous amount of effort.

'I thought father was giving me a chance to prove myself. That I'm not a coward. That I can handle important decisions.'

'Think a little deeper. Why would your father gather the War Council, despite knowing that it would be a tied vote? What did he want to teach you?'

'As I said, I'm not a child anymore. I don't need others to teach me.'

'But, Titus, you can still learn by observing others.'

'I'm my own man. I don't need to model myself off someone else, especially not my _father_. I will be better than him.'

The Minister crossed his spindly fingers and looked Titus in the eye. He held that position for a long time, staring at Titus until the young prince began to squirm under the pressure exerted by the gaze. Then, the Minister softened, sipping his tea before replying.

'You see, the actors on the world stage all abide by a certain set of ethics, and, as the representatives of Vale, we act on the single assumption. You see, we are never to be the aggressors.'

Titus leaned back on his chair. He nodded slowly, pretending to understand but at the same time trying to figure out what the Minister was getting at.

'And that should be the basis of our actions. Because we are _defensive_. Sometimes, we commit regrettable crimes, but ultimately, we are _defensive_. We are the people who do the disagreeable things so that the citizens of Vale and, in extension, Remnant, may sleep soundly in their beds at night. That is our assumption, and that is our ideal. Or is that too romantic?'

The Minister paused, as if inviting Titus to comment, but there was only silence. The minister smiled, and then continued.

'Different Kingdoms have different ideals, but we cannot compare the ideals of one Kingdom to the methods of another. We must match ideal for ideal, and method for method. On the world stage, there is limited difference in the methods employed by each Kingdom. Our difference is the premise on which we execute these methods upon and, as Vale is founded on the feudal system moving towards a democracy, our ideals on the world stage must also reflect this. Your father stated upon your arrival that we could "fight over no man's land to protect our citizens". We must tailor our methods to our ideals on the assumption that we are always _defensive_. We will react to provocation, but we _react_ , not _act_.

While our ruthlessness is on par with the other Kingdoms – I mean to say, we cannot simply be less ruthless because it is our government's policy to be benevolent – but, forgive me for being so direct, our moral high ground must be maintained. We're like an ancient Grimm hiding in our den: those who attempt to infringe upon our territory will be decimated. This is something you have not yet learned, Titus, and something your father is trying to teach. You would do well to listen, observe, and act accordingly.'

Titus frowned. The Minister was being as roundabout as he always was. What was this bullshit about being "defensive"? No matter how Titus saw the matter, "invading Vacuo" was exactly the same as "moving troops into Vacuo in case of belligerence from Mantle or Mistral". There was absolutely no difference in the two actions: they both result in annexing parts of Vacuo and obtaining the Dust underground. Wasn't that the goal? His thoughts were interrupted by the Minister as the short man spoke once more.

'I see you are still as stubborn as you were eight years ago when you first entered the court.'

'I was twelve then, with no perspective on the world. I'm twenty now. I can think for myself.'

'That remains to be seen. Explain to me in your own words what I've just told you.'

Titus took a gulp of his tea while he thought of how to retort, and almost choked on how bitter it was. Coughing slightly, he set down the cup. He didn't understand. When did the world move on without him? Back in the day, this was this and that was that, and Titus was able to say exactly what was on his mind. His blunt honesty was something his father encouraged. And now, when the chance came to prove himself, he failed? More importantly, how did he fail? Wasn't collaborating with Mantle and Mistral to invade Vacuo the correct course of action? If Vale were to join the aggressors, so be it. What's wrong with the truth?

'What you're trying to tell me is that we should invade, regardless of the label "colonisation" or "protection", right?'

'Yes, but my dear boy-'

'Then we'll invade. And that's that. Full stop. I don't need some justification for this. Vale profits from it, and we don't ruin relations with the other Kingdoms. Isn't that all?'

'No, it's about the justification-'

'I don't need some flimsy, half-hearted justification for war. We're going to Vacuo, cleaning the place up and mining the Dust. Is that so complicated?'

The Minister sighed. He rose from his comfortable armchair and downed the rest of his bitter tea in one gulp before setting down his cup and straightening out his suit. Titus tried another sip of his own tea, but the bitterness was almost unbearable.

'I'm sorry, Titus, but I've done the best I can to guide you. I have many things to do in preparation for the Conquest so I will be taking my leave.'

The Minister walked to the door, turned on the spot and bowed. Briskly opening it, he walked through and closed it behind him. Titus watched as the door closed, heard the click of the lock and listened as the footsteps receded.

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 **It's been a while, and I know I said in my Interlude chapter that I wouldn't be posting until after the exams, but I found some free time here and there to write and edit enough material to make a new chapter! Yay for exams coming up and procrastination!**

 **I've changed the name of this fanfic to The First Great War: A Seminal Tragedy, but I won't be going back to change the titles of the other chapters as of right now (maybe I will when I'm procrastinating). Please enjoy this new upload.**

 **I'm also thinking of doing a brief analysis in my author notes mainly for my own benefit so I can come back to this 3 years down the line and be like "so that's what I was thinking", so here goes:**

 **This fanfic was originally meant as a practise for voice. However, as I progressed, I decided to actually turn it into a fanfic. The first arc was entirely made of the practise pieces, and that might be why the initial arc seems a bit... disjointed at times. Beginning with the second arc, I've decided to focus on "themes" for the writing. Notably, the second arc will be focusing on ideology v methodology, dangers of the apotheosis of power/ideology and hubris. The manner of writing I'm practising is called "Cinematic Realism" and the main techincal aspect of writing will be dialogue.**

 **Thanks to everyone for reading so far! I've realised that I haven't yet paid homage to my followers/"favouriters", so a big thanks to Lewot, CalzoneCannon, Deadman1342, Epic Zealot Productions 2.0 and menwar24.**

 **Cya in a couple of weeks (unless procrastination catches up with me again),**

 **-J**


	16. The Lieutenant and the Journalist

**The First Great War: A Seminal Tragedy**

Chapter 14: The Lieutenant and the Journalist

'We'll be working under you, sir!'

Morcos clicked his heels together and saluted his new captain. The man had soft brown eyes and close-cropped, dark brown hair, a long nose, thin face and a sharp jaw line. The chair he sat in was utilitarian, the table equally as undecorated, and as Morcos looked around the tent, the respect for his new captain grew twofold. The only things in the room were maps, Scrolls, work tables and stationery. A bed was arranged at the back of the tent, with some rations and a small, standard issue gas stove while in the corner was a medkit with some new emotion suppressing drugs Schnee had developed on top. Unlike the other officers, this new captain was a man of little comforts.

'At ease.'

Morcos' hands fell to his side, but he stood just as straight, looking at a fixed point above the captain's head. The captain smiled.

'I do things a bit differently, so get used to it. I don't care about all these… army pleasantries. If you wanna show respect, do it in the field by following my orders. Otherwise, talk to me like everyone else. Oh, I haven't introduced myself yet, right? The name's Charles Lewis. Just call me Lewis.'

'Yessir!'

'I told you, it's Lewis. And relax. You're making me tense.'

'Um, sure… Lewis.'

'That's better. Now, you're new, right?' asked Lewis. As he spoke, he picked up a large Scroll and pulled up a screen of deployments. 'The forty-first platoon. Hmm… For now, join up with the fortieth platoon; they're setting out tomorrow morning; going about half a day's march out. Gonna be babysitting some researchers, but our personnel are being harassed a bit by the Vacks* and asking for some help.' He glanced at Morcos' personal file on another Scroll. 'You're a… second lieutenant. Then I guess you'll be reporting to Lieutenant Daniel Krael for now. He's the one in charge of the fortieth. Also, give me your Scroll, I'll upload everyone's contacts.'

Handing over his Scroll, Morcos asked 'When do we head out, sir?'

'Tomorrow, first light. That's oh-five-thirty; it's summer on the southern side. You better get the boys used to the heat as fast as you can. It's brutal. I know most campaigns are meant to start in spring, but the summer heat from the desert's gonna ruin us, mark my words. Also, don't push the men too hard, if you're caught in a shitty situation, get as many back alive as you can, alright?'

Lewis handed the Scroll back, with the contacts newly updated.

'Yessir!'

'Ok, dismissed.'

Morcos saluted his new captain and turned to step back outside. As he left, Lewis shouted 'By the way, Krael's set up his platoon on the eastern side. Go find him and tell him I sent you.'

As Morcos walked through the camp, he caught glimpses of soldiers walking in and out of makeshift buildings and tents. A campaign, huh. Morcos had never imagined that he would leave Mantle, much less find himself on the front lines. He had always wanted to just live a life as a businessman and one day inherit his father's company.

"Invasions only occurred when the benefits of direct control over territory outweighed both the benefits of trading with a territory and the negatives of having to control a hostile civilian population." That's what his father had said when the war declaration was announced to the public. "There are many complexities to consider in our modern world compared to the earlier years. Before, we would consider the production of food and protection from Grimm to be the most essential. Nowadays, food and safety aren't problems anymore, so the movement of luxury goods is far more important. Also, goods and materials which are beneficial to the government are also prioritised, such as Dust…"

Sand whipping across his face bought Morcos back to reality. The wind had picked up, and the sparse vegetation wasn't enough to keep all the particles down. Morcos projected the little aura he had around his face to stop the sand from getting into his eyes and trudged towards his tent. Then, his Scroll vibrated, and a message popped up. It read: "Don't come see me, get some sleep tonight. Briefing at 0500. -Krael".

Three people were waiting for him inside. They were the sergeants of the fireteams within Morcos' platoon. After a brief chat, Morcos informed them of their first mission and told them the time and place. As soon as they left, Morcos set the alarm and promptly fell asleep with all his clothes still on.

It only felt like seconds had passed when he was jerked awake by the harsh alarm. Rubbing his eyes, Morcos splashed water on his face and groggily loaded his weapons. After giving his pack a once over, he donned his bullet-resistant vest and his helmet before going outside to meet with his men.

As he walked towards the southern side of the camp with his group of freshmen in tow, Morcos saw a large man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant that was two sizes too small. Conversing with him was a slim man in his early twenties. The large man had long, braided hair, thick hands and a handsome face despite the lines that years of labour had cut into it. The slightly shortened sleaves revealed a thick ring of scars on his wrists. Having studied the now abolished slave trade in Mantle, Morcos realised that they were probably from the constant rubbing and chafing of manacles. From the look of it, the man had struggled until his flesh had peeled away and only bone remained.

In contrast, the younger man had short-cropped, blond hair and slightly crooked nose. He slouched slightly and had his hands in his pockets, giving him a relaxed feel. The casual shirt he wore had a thin linen cloak draped over it like a dressing gown. An unusually large pistol was holstered at his side and a pin on his chest indicated that he was a Specialist: a group of talented fighters gathered by Schnee whose job it was to find new materials for research. As Morcos approached, he felt a shiver running through him. Specialists were supposed to be heartless and cruel, and there were many rumours about them executing soldiers who'd stepped out of line.

The larger man turned towards him as Morcos approached. Raising a hand in greeting, he gave a lopsided smile and spoke. His voice was deep, but much smoother than Morcos had imagined.

'You're the add, huh?'

'Um, the add?'

'We call platoons who're put under another platoon an "add".'

'Then yes, I am, sir.'

'Good. You're early, we can get a proper briefing in and I can get to know you and your men. My name is Daniel Krael, by the way. It's nice to meet you.'

Krael spoke in a cultured manner and voice which was unexpected for a former slave. It was almost as if he had a proper education.

'And I'm Gilius Revesby. Just call me Gil. Everyone around here does.'

The young Specialist's voice matched his mannerisms. It was a laid back tone; confident bordering on arrogant.

'Ok… Gil. I'm Second Lieutenant Abraham Morcos.'

'Mind if I call you Abe?'

'Um…'

'Cool. Let's go find out what this bear is planning, Abe. Oh, by the way, we have a Mistrian war journalist with us. His name's Revach. Don't do anything dodgy in front of him, ok? Like, just don't. Because he'll find any excuse to write a good story.'

The three men walked towards a large pavilion erected at the edge of the camp, with Morcos' platoon trailing behind them. A group of men, presumably Krael's, were already seated facing a podium and chatting among themselves. When they arrived, Krael indicated the open area and Revesby, Morcos and the men sat down in the empty area. Walking to the podium, Krael connected his scroll to a projector.

Morcos listened attentively as Krael gave his debrief. Once they reached the area, he'd split up his men to and send some into the woodlands to look for a rumoured village while Krael's platoon guarded the researchers. After it was over, the men gave their weapons a rundown and hopped into the back of the large, bread-loaf shaped army trucks. The journey was uneventful but uncomfortable, and Morcos spent the majority of his time counting and recounting the amount of individual threads in his bullet resistant vest. There were no roads in Vacuo; the trucks followed as flat a path as they could. Pits in the ground would often shake the entire vehicle, and every time there was a jolt, he would lose count. By the end of the journey, Morcos was sore from head to foot. Straightening his back, he felt each individual vertebrae move against the others and his muscles wanted to shift back into a sitting position.

There was a soft crackling sound on his shoulder as his Scroll came to life.

'Oi, Morcos. Go check out the forest immediately. Be careful, one of my men says he can see some Grimm.'

'Yes sir. How many men do you want me to take?'

There was a moment of silence before Krael replied.

'A fireteam should be enough. If you don't want to go yourself, just send one of your sergeants over.'

'I'll go and take a look myself, sir.'

* * *

Bullets streaked across the sparse woodland. The constant cracks kept Morcos on his toes. Raising his assault rifle, he loosed several rounds from into a nearby beowolf, which shrugged off the rounds, snarled, and backed behind several boulders. The Grimm of Vacuo were different from what Morcos had fought against in Mantle: tougher, more agile and even… smarter. No, there was no way, right? He had never known any form of Grimm which possessed intelligence. Those only existed in the realm of fairy tales.

Besides, they weren't supposed to be fighting against the Grimm either. He was supposed to be trying to locate the Vack's village. During the firefight, Morcos had tried to disengage with the Grimm several times, but without success. Each time they tried, the Grimm would band together and charge at the people who remained behind, forcing the ones who got away to come back and lay down a volley of fire to stop the charge.

Morcos drew his markerlight pistol in a practised motion with his off hand and fired. It hit a boarbatusk in the flank and a bright blue light emitted from the wound. Instantly, his entire fireteam emptied their rounds into the origin of the light, peppering the unfortunate Grimm and the force of the bullets threw it against a dried, papery tree trunk.

'Good shot!'

Morcos stowed the pistol back and there was a series of sharp clicks as a new round was loaded by the automatic holster. Suddenly, there was a roar, splitting the air in half. Wind rustled through the leaves from the force of the bellow. Morcos instinctively covered his head and looked down at the ground. Then, he felt the earth begin to tremble. An earthquake? No, impossible. Western Vytal was a single tectonic plate unlike the other continents. Peering around the tree he was taking cover behind, Morcos saw a terrifying sight. Black walls of Grimm were charging at his fireteam. They smashed through the vegetation, crushing it underfoot. Switching his assault rifle to full auto, Morcos screamed.

'Run! Now!'

Stepping out from behind the tree, Morcos levelled his rifle and squeezed the trigger as hard as he could. Bullets sprayed out in front of him, tearing into the Grimm and knocking their huge shoulders back. Dropping a grenade, he bolted as fast as he could towards the edge of the forest with his men. Running alongside him was a young man in a soft brown robe hardly suited for the battlefield.

That damned war journalist had followed them onto the front lines.

Pulling a grenade from his belt, Morcos weighed the disk shaped contraption in his hand. Pressing down on the safety switch, he pulled out the pin and wildly threw the grenade over his shoulder. He continued to run, hearing the blood pumping in his ears and desperately scrambling along a rocky trail.

The explosion ripped through several trees, and they all collapsed with drawn out groans. The new Dust-based grenades were several times more powerful on blowing things apart but weren't as effective as shrapnel ones for piercing aura or armour. The black wall of Grimm were briefly stymied, but continued their relentless pursuit.

'Sir! We got a village! I think it's the Vacks we're looking for!'

The voice from his sergeant stopped Morcos from inwardly cursing his luck and focus on the situation at hand. The Grimm chasing them wouldn't give them the time to make contact much less ascertain if the Vacks were going to be hostile or not.

'Alright! Whoever has visuals, tell me if they're armed! Everyone else, fan out and don't fire!'

'We won't reach them, sir! It's at least a thousand paces out! The Grimm will catch up before then!'

Morcos glanced at all the men around him. Doing a quick mental count, one thousand paces was roughly eight hundred metres. That would be around three, probably four minutes of heavy running which was impossible for a tired and equipment laden fireteam. Instantly making his decision, he slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and begun issuing instructions.

'Everyone, fan out and look for a place to hide. Take those new emotion suppressing pills they issued us with and calm down as much as you can. Hopefully, the Grimm will be attracted to the village and we'll slip through. Don't clump together; we need to dilute the emotion as much as possible.'

His sergeant gave him a surprised and pained look.

'Wait, so you're telling us-'

'Hurry up!'

'No, look me in the eyes. Tell me what-'

'Yes, I'm telling you to use those villagers as bait. You got a problem?'

The man silently glared at Morcos, his gaze unwavering. Seeing his determination, Morcos tried to convince him to move.

'It's my job to keep you alive, it's your job to follow my orders. You got a problem with that, go court martial me when we get back. That's if you get back.'

'Is that meant to be a threat, sir?'

'No, it's the fucking truth, now take a pill and stick your dumbass head in the dirt!'

Morcos grabbed the war journalist standing beside him and dragged him to a half hollowed tree. Giving him a pill, Morcos said 'Get inside, calm down, take the pill' before crouching down and trying to hide himself in the decayed leaves. Then, a soft voice came from above him within the tree.

'What's your name, Lieutenant?'

'Abraham Morcos, and shut up. Be quiet for now. I don't know if the Grimm have a good sense of hearing or not.'

'Mine is-'

'Fuckin' shut it.'

At that, the journalist fell quiet. A few seconds passed. Then, the ground began to rumble. It was soft at first, but it was obvious that Grimm were still charging forwards. How they managed to outrun the charge in the first place, Morcos had no idea. He simply sat there.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. I'm calm right? Yeah. Ok, I got this. Breathe in, and now out. Ok.

Seconds passed. The rumbling got closer.

Wait, shit. Weren't these pills meant to be experimental? No, they wouldn't issue stuff that didn't work, right?

The rumbling grew louder and louder until Morcos thought the Grimm must have reached him. It was like filling a water bottle by only listening to the sound; somehow, it never filled to the brim. The Grimm grew closer and closer. Morcos could feel the ground trembling and his teeth chattering slightly inside his head from the vibrations. Then, the black wave reached him. A boarbatusk bolted past his tree, followed by several beowolves and a large, two-legged Grimm Morcos had never seen before. Waves upon waves of Grimm passed. At the start, Morcos was holding his breath, but after a few seconds, he started to accept the fact the pills actually worked. Letting out a small sigh, he patiently waited another minute or so for the Grimm wave to pass.

As the backs of the Grimm receded, there was a scream from a woman or a child. It pierced Morcos' eardrums. Soon, it was followed by a shout, this time from a man. Morcos turned on his Scroll and sent a message to his men. "Stay where you are. Wait for my orders."

Several hours passed. In the distance, Morcos could hear the clashes of steel against bones as the battle between the Vacks and the Grimm hoard continued. There was an odd tension in the air that made him jumpy. The midday sun had begun to set causing shadows cast by the papery trees to grow longer and longer. Morcos shifted his legs slightly to shake off the stiffness in his joints and continued to wait.

By the time the air had begun to cool, Morcos could no longer hear the din of battle. There were no more cries, no more ringing of steel, no more signs of life or Grimm. Taking out his Scroll, he typed into it "Come to the big boulder. I'll give more orders when all of you are here." Brushing off the leaves on his trousers, Morcos stood up and arched his back. There were several cracking sounds as his spine decided to protest.

'Oi, journalist. Come out. We need to start going back.'

'My name is Revach.'

The journalist replied in an even tone. It was as if nothing had happened and he was simply introducing himself for an interview. The men gathered and begun their arduous trek back to the camp. After they arrived, Morcos was interrogated by Krael. They talked about what transpired, the Grimm, and finally about the village. By the end, Morcos was both mentally and physically exhausted. However, only after several steps out of the command tent, a voice addressed him from behind.

'Care to take a walk with me?'

Morcos turned around. Behind him was the journalist Revach.

'I don't really fancy walking right now.'

Revach laughed. Sweeping his hair out of his eyes, he tried to explain himself.

'I just thought it would be less formal than asking "Can you come for an interview?". I mean, we can chat more freely when we walk.'

Morcos sighed. He wanted to stay away from the journalist after the day's events but lady luck wasn't with him today.

'Ok. Let's walk.'

The two men began strolling towards the periphery of the camp in silence. Revach seemed to enjoy the silence and the soft wind brushing at his face. He raised his head and looked up at the sky before he asked his question.

'Lieutenant, what is your philosophy?'

Morcos felt uncomfortable at the question.

'What do you mean by philosophy? I'm a soldier. I just do what I'm told.'

Revach walked in front while Morcos followed. The young man would be twenty at the oldest, but Morcos put his age at around eighteen: a green child on a battlefield. His upright back and austere manner made him feel like a puffed-up aristocrat.

'Well, are the people of Mantle believers in a certain faith? Or do they simply believe in what is real, what is corporeal, to be exact?'

'I don't know.' Morcos' tone was slightly helpless. He didn't understand what the Mistrian** reporter was trying to ask, nor did he particularly feel engaged with the questions. 'Why must someone have a philosophy? It's not like they know, much less care. People just want to eat, sleep and work because it's the right thing to do.'

'Then what about you?'

'Oh, for the Creators sake'. Morcos did not find the conversation interesting at the slightest. He simply wanted to rest. There was a short silence as the reporter contemplated his next words.

'Let me try again. How do you know that what you're doing, such as invading Vacuo and taking innocent lives to enslave them in the Dust mines, is right?'

'Who said they are? I'm here to follow orders.'

'You ordered your men to abandon the Vacuo civilians. Your men followed it.'

'My orders were to guard against Vacks and keep my men alive. I think I followed them quite well.'

'But then, lieutenant, what is your justification? How would you sleep at night, knowing that what you did was wrong?' The reporter smiled softly as he said this, as if secretly knowing something Morcos did not.

'What I do is serve my captain. If we're wrong, that's that. I will remember every life I've taken. And I don't intend to forget.'

'What a painful philosophy.'

The two men continued to walk. They rounded the edge of the camp and headed towards where the researchers were analysing minerals. Piles of rocks, broken into manageable pieces, were scattered around the site with most being a sandy, orange-red lumps, crumbling whenever a researcher tried to chisel off a small portion. Morcos turned towards the young reporter intending to challenge his naïve countenance.

'Then what's yours? Your justification, I mean. You're just like me; stuck in a situation where you can't make it better. That's life. Do you really think that it'll make a difference if you go home with some horror story that the newspapers will never publish? Do you think the public will care about human rights?' Morcos shrugged. 'In the end, war is war. You go to war to come back alive.'

The reporter sat down on a shard of dusty rock and gazed into the horizon. They were there for several moments, Morcos, standing and watching as the sunset enveloped the young reporter as he turned his face towards the sky, his imposing silhouette casting a long shadow.

'I'm a journalist right now to gain more experience working with people from other Kingdoms. Eventually, I would like to return to Mistral and rule the right way. One that's free of corruption and shady dealings. But, for me, that's rather impossible.' The young reporter swept the slightly damp hair out of the way. Their eyes met, and there was a flicker of fear within the lieutenant as he saw the hard, cold eyes of a cynic. 'As I've told you before, my family has mostly been executed by the Emperor, and no matter how hard I work, the system will not accept me. Perhaps I should go to Mantle and try my luck there; I hear it's a meritocracy rather than a game of relationships.'

Morcos listened to the young man and felt as if he were hearing the ravings of a madman or a preacher. He never understood how people could be so blind to the world. No matter where one went, it was always a game of relationships. Even in a meritocracy. That's just how the world works. However, Morcos was slightly intrigued by the journalist named Revach, by his countenance, his ideals, and what he could achieve. He looked down at the ground for a moment, wondering if he had met someone who may shape the future, and then spoke.

'Well, then. That's enough about me. What about you? What's your justification?'

'Well, lieutenant, for me, my justification is progress… and progress is like a journey. We walk down that path, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, sometimes we take a shortcut, while at others we may forget something and are forced to turn back. It is perfectly acceptable for progress to be occasionally regressive, for we will learn from our mistakes. All of this progress leads to one final destination: the final, perfect state of mankind in which we will reach a form of catharsis and be elevated. And I hope to be the one to commence our rise; a rise to equal our Creator. How pleased will he be when he sees that his creations have exceeded his wildest expectations? Or will he have expected it of us all along? Regardless, we will begin with a purge of expression, and then emotion. Once we have cleaned the human mind from unwholesome thoughts, we can begin to mold it back into the shape of our choosing; the state of the perfect man.'

Morcos was slightly taken aback. He couldn't tell if Revach's words were the doctrine of an idealist or the ravings of a madman, but he tended towards the latter. Morcos dared to ask another question but at the same time wondering if he wanted to hear more.

'And how much will you do to achieve this… final state of mankind?'

'Anything I can.'

The short answer wasn't what Morcos was looking for, and he was afraid to hear what Revach would say. However, he poked a little more.

'The world's an ugly place. I dunno if you'll make it down your little path.'

'And there's the difference between the two of us. You are afraid of your actions because you don't see the greater picture. You don't fight with the belief that you're making the world a better place. Unlike you, I know absolutely that my actions are in the right. You see, if I had to set off a bomb in the middle of a crowded cafeteria, and I could see exactly how it aided the cause, I would have no hesitation. Ah, so many women, so many children, dead, and so far down the path. We are made of different convictions, lieutenant. For you, you merely follow. You don't have that iron-held belief in your actions that I do, nor a purpose or goal. For me, it's like keeping a balance sheet; I do so much… and progress so far down the path.'

* * *

 _*Vacks: I'm using this as a slang for Vacuo citizen or a person from Vacuo  
**Mistrian: Person from Mistral_

 **A/N:**

 **Ah. So... Hi. I haven't been writing for this fanfic for a long time and it took some time to get back into the story and the flow of writing. Sorry for that. However, on the bright side, I've finished all my internal exams. Finals are in a 5 weeks (I believe) so I have some time to procrastinate and hopefully put out some good content.**

 **Now, some of you might think "What the **** is this guy on about? Exams? At this time of year?" to which I will reply that I'm an aussie so while all of you northern hemisphere residents are relaxing in your summer break, we southerners are selecting what uni course we want.**

 **Finally, thank you to Toy2711, SMV Aria 2 and TedOrAlive2 for following my story.**

 **Cheers mate, and have a good day!**


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